Wild Roses

 
Single bloomers deeply rooted in
Unique,
But not year round unlike,
Newly lovers kissing fingers
After love’s freshly minted prick

Red brushwork burns my feet
As I run,
Tilling the blood soil
Where my soul awaits for you
Limiting the range that our
Common compass can’t resist

As in your wanton whisper’s need to
Insist,
On resting profoundly pressed up
Against my rousing breath
Forever lip lingering
In the wild rose bed.