Unfurling poppies
Above the snow
Look like
Little crimson blood stains
As though
A dying man
Had walked through
The white fields.
They sway amidst the ice
Tainting the air
With the
Fragrance
Of rich, dark opium,
Like the callings of
Forbidden secrets.
Like Goddesses that walk
Through fields
Of Asphodel
To meet a lover,
Smoking cigars
Rolled of poppy petals
And filled with opium seeds.
They’ll lie together
Blowing back smoke
On a scarlet bed
Stained with
Wine
And virginal blood,
Covered
With crushed poppies
Until they fall asleep
To a lullaby
Sung to the wind
On a field of snow
That looks like it
Bleeds
Eternally.