By Jlor  jlorenz@saber.net
Date: 14 October 1999

Gypsy Moth

The red carnation in your hair 
I see no more, it isn't there;
Or else, by not seeing, I hate you so blindly
That you have come out of my mind, 
Leaving only red traces. 
Red petals scattered by the lover's knife 
Flying out of your darkness, to pierce my heart. 

Your  eyes are no longer blue as cornflowers, 
But gray ashes instead, 
Set like ice cubes in the pale face 
Of the one who died 
In cold dreams... 
A ghost made of silver moonbeams 
Crying through a tragic windowsill 
Into a silently listening, empty room.
I became lost that night, weeping under my eylids...

Did you even care that as evening fell,  
The gypsy moth serenaded me,
Bowing with sad notes across our white wedding vows
Spotted red by your bloodstained, unfaithful mouth?

After the blackness of night descended,
Your lipstick no longer attracted me,
As it used to, to your flambyance, 
Warm claret in color; 
Nor did your ruddy supple body 
Call out to me anymore
To remove your cream-colored dress.  
Because I ripped you from my mouth 
And spat thorns left by the red rose of madness,  
And I prayed that they who listened
To this complaint
Sung by me, a man you've played 
Like an old silverhaired violin,  
Might never ever want you, 
Your scornful fertility,  
Or your scarlet carnation.