Never trust a Red Rose…with your secrets


Never trust a red rose that

Promises to hold your secrets

it will spill them out like spinach

spat out of a toddler’s mouth


it will blurt out how much I love

ancient Catholic churches drowsing

on the roadside, luring me in with

bribes of stained glass windows


and London cats always as fat as

washing machines that waddle up

to be petted as they gently grumble

about nothing important, looking

always as well fed as the Queen!

Their fur as soft as happiness that


Sneaks out of catnip and a world

without creeps that declaw their cats!




pics and text: daksha




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