Something does not love a rose
Love a rose, the sweetness and the pain.
Seize the bloom, and hold it in the rain;
Caress the thorns that grow along the cane
And watch the red leak from the broken vein.
Scarlet corollas press into the brain,
Their beauty dearer, deeper than the stain.
Arising from the place where love has lain,
Inhale the fragrance, breathe yourself insane.
The bed of roses, home to death and life
Requires the man to lie upon the wife,
Ingratiates the couple with the knife --
Apostate now, the petals bleeding, rife.
Love arose: a rose, a sore, Eros:
A vital touch; within, a fatal dose.