The Rose

The Rose

Let my fingers, dripping with blood,
Touch the beauty of your throbbing red.
Are your velvet petals truly wonderful
That your sinful beauty possesses my cracking head.

Shed your deathly leaves that barricade
You from the bloody human touch.
Let me warm your thorned cold body
With bloody pain. I ask not of much.

Your flower threatens to succumb to darkness
And cease its ghostly image, so haunting.
Its murderous perfection is so near to death.
Let me kiss it to life, or die trying.