PROPHET MOHAMMAD’S ROSE
I’ve decided to take the plunge,
dive headlong into disaster.
clip on borrowed wings
and expect the worst.
I know once dead,
there’s more dying yet.
Once I opened my mouth,
God looked away and whispered,
She’ll not survive the reckoning.
That night I played backgammon,
lost every round. God mumbled
over my shoulder,
She never allows for the holy ghost.
I’m easy game, more fragrant dead
than alive, like the Prophet Mohammad’s rose.