Thorns
Photo by Anna Shevchuk from Pexels.
And how I wish you’d let me
I lean closer and closer
Only to get pricked by your thorns
A small drop of blood forming on the tip of my fingers
That yearn
And crave
The sting of
You.
How it hurts
How affectionate it feels
To get pricked by one of your thorns
I keep getting closer, hoping that one day
You’ll let me get close enough
To bathe in the beauty and smell of your flowers
If I have to bleed pools and ponds of blood for the possibility, I will
Every rose has its thorns.
Show me yours, and I’ll show you hands that are willing to bleed.
