December Roses

 
You were there in the middle of the roses,
like a dragon that doesn't speak any language,
as if a cat had eaten your tongue,
as if at all costs you wanted
to learn the language of flowers...

and all the roses smelled of blood
and all the air circulated in veins...
you were there in the middle
of the reddest of crimsons.

Not even the blue of your eyes
could compete with it.
Only the deep black of your dreams
had the nerve to disguise itself
as a thorn among so many roses.