The Fairest Rose
My love is like the fairest rose
Its thorns do pierce the tenderness of my palms
The red of its blossom does match
Slowly, draining my colour
Leaving me to dust.
Whose perfect thorns bite deep into the hands
And hearts of those who hold it.
And of my heart. And anchors itself there
As I marvel at its beauty through my pain.
The wine of my blood as its thorns
Draw deep of the nectar inside me.
And its great green umbilical cord vine
Winds about me, inside me, around my heart,
Choking,
Closing,
Digging its teeth within until they're embedded
And indistinguishable from the person I was.
To infuse itself with life
And bring the blood-red ripeness to its blossom.
~Leandra Drache