Paper Roses [edited]

This Yellow glow on a    
     
night street throws guesses at    
its neighbor, if he would    
fold            
          a tight-lipped substance of    
          abuse, its chilled contours    
          an S in his compass needling accidental poles;    
Should he clip sleep now to      
the maria of his bedtime spheroids? Should he tear their sails? or maybe Welcome the    
Parentheses perched on    
his window sill that prod    
those paper roses: “Pierce,    
Into layers and their cousins and their continents of overpopulated bazaars, what brown nails of    
red liars never could”;                                                  
     
I urged his guilt to stay.    
To sample pigments that      
might Compete with piercings of others and each-others.      
Or smell as sweet and same.