Desert Rose

Long live the queen of consumerism. What is in your eyes my love as i stroll on your waterfront, stinking of fish? The desert and the smell of sea in your hair. Such painful laughter in your eyes. Concrete bones in your body. Such dust in your breath.What bows have launched their street-light arrows to illuminate your death? Why do you cry my courtesan? My lovely concubine of dreams? Are you giving these hollow shells and shade in exchange? What is your price? What cloth and veil of trophy dishonour? You are in love with yourself and yet you will cease to exist in these arrogant confines. Your glass house smells of debauchery and sexual assault. Undressed, you have been, with eyes and rapists' hands. Touching you. Inch by inch. Touching you. Never there. You are never there. The hands are never there either, can never touch your hollow soul. Your necklace, it is precious and old. made of rusted wounds and metal. How lovely. Your crown, your glorious boulevard of artifice, when was it built? Ah you are young. Nubile in body and crone of non-existing soul.Why, why, why, do you cry my hungry courtesan? Dear concubine of dreams? What is it in your rusted blood that runs down your hired cheek like a whore's mascara?