thorns

Thorns              
             
I had not looked upon his unopened letters in months.              
             
Tempt opened one.              
             
Took me back to his bed of thorns we shared.              
             
Fucked on.              
             
Knowing the pain that bed gave, he taught me to love that pain.              
             
And him.              
             
But he left, and i did not chase.              
             
I grieved.              
             
For what seemed eternity.              
             
I had known the letters might  release grief again.              
             
They hurt, gave longing .              
             
A new man though.      
         
Gives new, though bittersweet,  longing.              
             
I feel.              
             
He would lay me on a bed of roses.              
Make love.              
             
And when the thorns from the stems hurt.              
             
He would kiss away the sting.              
             
Would want me to feel only the prick between my open thighs              
             
I am learning that would be the loving thing.              
             
I opened the letter, yes.              
             
But in the end.              
             
Opened my eyes.