Flowers Are Forgiving Poem by Joseph Narusiewicz

Crested night like a poem of opium
Your cascading tears paint terminal virgins
She never really rests
Is the hero of death your rescue
Do you escape like a vampire
We met at the grave of young Keats
We kissed without measure
Has Sylvia Plath warmed the earth
Now the blue clouds serenade
Lyrics of saints on broken glass

What dreams make me write you
Your quiet room has a visitor
Your gentle heart must open to me
I know I am the protagonist
Subliminal Seines along the chains
Turban novels with sterile idealism
Reality for me is your acceptance
I pound on your door with pain
At times the moon feels like diamonds
Flowers are forgiving in their dying vase