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Rose Part I
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Black Sweet and fresh like a red, red rose
Deep crimson as red blood that flows
through my petals like thrusts of
hot passion. They smell my lusciousness
and are intoxicated
into seizures of drunken lasciviousness.
My soft petals caress their face
with gentility and warmth
like a velvet kerchief.
They touch my stem and my thorns
prick them.
The sight of their open flesh
frightens them.
A part of them exposed
...and they do not pick me.
Damn! I love this poem more than you can ever imagine!