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Thorns
One day, I might have to learn to enjoy
The sound of these flowers crying
Because when I take a walk in her garden
I feel as if everything is dying...
When I first stepped into her realm
The grass was dead and the soil had hardened
She bathed in a bowl of thorns:
The roses that had been killed by her scorn
Now when I waltz in her garden
I can hear the posies moaning
Perhaps I too will live to see morning
Each drop of blood tells a tale
The pain we share
Hurts so enamorably
The love we share
Fills every touch with alacrity
Like leather binds the soft flesh
As your mouth, your tongue
Could heal me
It's cruel that you make me love you
But cruelty is what I want.
© 2006 Eugene Aarons-Cooke
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