Blood Calls Like Flowers Poem by Erika Conti

my Blood calls your blood
sugary blood
extreme
extremely
sexual.
The dry rose of Jericho
stretches her dry
arms
turning death
into living beauty
and ready to die again.
my lips
are moist
my eyes are wet
my heart is
a dead fruit
dried up by
a cruel sun.
In the waiting
all colours fade
to grey
and nasty
details
stand out
in the blurry vision
of the blind wait.
The clouds of desires
rain on my head
once again
and my blood
warms up
calling your blood.