Half flowers

I besought a pot of flowers

a medley of colour, tones and shapes

I pick a flower from the bottle

it is a half flower, root stemmed like

a Lily without a water, the petals moist

like a rose in shrubbery of desire

I flinch to call her a name, Rose-Lily,

she darts back to the open window

there’s the garden in panorama

long lasting stretch empty of horses

while the mud on the path stigmatised

the corpses of the weed, I am growing older

older and older till the dawn comes with

a  blessing of the youth, I open my whiskey bottle

there’s a scream of Rose-Lily, the magic flower pot

has produced a flower, a half of rose and lily

with a face of desiring love, there’s a flower

that has come on to the stem and I call the half-flower

A cross between the weed and the rosary

She is silent as listening to the noise of colour

smudged she puts on the half-flower on her hair

Rose-Lily has got a voice-over- the love pot.