Floral Game

I wear the lilies like a dress

moving to my rhythm, they creep;

their dreams are dancing in my head

and softly singing me to sleep.

Violets lick my honeyed praises

whispering a shy spell to keep;

their laughs are hiding my black wounds

and causing skeletons to weep.

Fires slip into my shadow

over my happy years they leap.

I find young reasons to lie down

in wicked roses, buried deep.

—Gianina Portfolio, 2000