Redressing The Uncrowned Saint

standing at my door
midnight spilling from her eyes
she offered me a wilted rose
said it hadn’t seen the sun
in far too long

her hands were shivering
a deathly pale ice
the type of wintry touch
that hasn’t seen life

with no starlight
the evening was just
absence of ultraviolet
violence

the longer rays
the longer days
summer pays
like mystery

that will never be solved
the angular momentum
is just a mythical illusion

she stands
having climbed my stairs
she sees the light flickering
counts the seconds
since she’s been weeping

forgetting her meteor shower
of regrets
pastel purplish lips
pastel purplish drips
mascara running into bruises
as she crushes out a cigarette

she came looking for sympathy

and I’ve become all apathy
more spines on me
than barbed wire
more sting to me
than brazen nettle

she tries to smile
I smile, and once more
close the door