It’s scent, though had, at times feels new.
At whole, not bewildering but it’s stitches, bolded in beauty,
abducts her faucets and lured damp nose.
This rose has all the charm of a bosom to a baby.
Painted in love and rapture yet still it push and punctures inside sealed skin.
And while she slowly licks away those pearls of crimson
and supplies reminiscent kisses,
she waters her thorny Rose with hopeful wishes.
Beauty of the earth, his name, its familiar in its feeling
But all the while, he plucks at her cords and strums an unfamiliar sometimes blissful healing.
It is the fullness of his hands, seizing, they plunge inside the folds of her honeysuckle heart.
His almond lids encircling still and raging waters beneath a naked moon
This moon, these eyes, they bear the color of swallowed earth, that when pointed, drink the entrails of her loveliness.
Caressing each pedal, it is the gust inside her winded mouth that causes him to move
Picked outside its isolated bush, she holds it close to rounded breasts
in hopes it will put its thorns to rest.
Pleading, its soul, perforated with planets punching light
She feels its rays, beating warm, attempting to draw away her fright.
In its need for her, this rose, trembles as it unfastens useless edges,
At this sight, she too unbuckles feet and covered hedges.
Perfumed in their wine, they are both swallowed whole, happy trapped inside each other’s folds.