Wolfsbane (Aconitum)
On our stroll back from the estuary,
we rested beside a riverbank
and tugged these hooded flowers
from the edge of the foam.
I told you that they were violets,
but—what did I know?—
I couldn’t tell a lily from a lilac.
I wove them into your curls
until your hair was as heavy with purple
as dusk upon the rollicking waters,
slow-motion in the quickening breeze.
When I leaned my lips into yours,
yours had begun to quiver and sweat.
You grew rigid
and heavy
as petrified wood.
At first I was embarrassed
I’d overstepped
the boundaries that boys often risk
when faced with beautiful girls.
But later, I learned that the stems
of those flowers
had leaked into your scalp—
though it was hardly anything,
hardly anything at all—
this I learned
only after the paramedics
gave up on you.
by Ryan Dowling
Gah! The endings of your poems always get me haha. Another good one 🙂
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Thanks Mandy! Glad you liked it.
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What a lovely and haunting poem. That ending! I didn’t see it coming.
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Thank you for the kind words!
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May I reblog Wolfsbane on Morality Park sometime tomorrow?
Basilike
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Of course. I don’t think I’ve ever been reblogged before, so thank you for mentioning me.
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Great! Thank you, Ryan!
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Reblogged this on MORALITY PARK and commented:
Basilike’s Choice: Ryan Dowling
Because no one writes about a poisonous flower like he does.
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