The Rose moves The Mountain

Sat upon the edge of the bed
Moonlight falling over broad back
A mountain perched on the edge
Of a deep, dark abyss

She comes to that mountain
Her tendrils wrapping around
The hardened and rough crags
Of this mountains bulk

She holds him without possession
No sight of thorns in her embrace
Just the touch of delicate petals
And her soothing warmth

In spite of her dainty form
And his incredible size
She supports him, holds him
Pulls him back from the coming fall

The mountain turns to the rose
Falling into her instead
She takes his fall welcomingly
Blossoming under his form.