Sub Rosa

underneath the crust of his bruises
the emerald-eyed serpent hums the sinful requiem...
mortal, he sees...the repulsiveness of his reflection...
nauseated, as reaching zenith makes borderline frightfully tangible

nostalgic for spring - when he could kiss the grass
and anxiously wait for gnomes' anthem...
farewell, my beloved myth...the marsh of uncried tears
swallows human vestiges, as feeble as rough...

the curtains are closed - giant numb lids,
crushing the bones, embracing grievious solitude...
protective mantle, concealing the naive desire of reaching the moon,
the same moon that he could once deceive hiding behind a finger