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. . . and there I grew these roses with my flesh and blood. When we were one, our blood flowed smoothly between our joint veins. We lived one life, we breathed together through the same lungs. and I was happy. . . yes I was. We gave each other more than half a year, more than half a pint, more than half a quart gave more to this Blood River. It was strong. . . yes it was. Not so long ago our Beloved Blood River slowly, died without it's rhythmic flow, all tied up and dried up. It gave way,our Blood River skin dry parched and peeling, to gushing clots and memories. My adrenalin rushes slowly seeping out of my fingertips. It hurt like hell, but then I was free. . . yes I was. My flesh and my heart remended my wounds. I played with them, I built and destructed many rivers. I grew tired and weary. . . yes I did. With closed eyes, I searched through the thick and stickiness and felt my way back to your body . . . and there I grew these roses with my flesh and blood. © Zillah, 1999 |