A Rose With Few Thorns
When I give myself to thee, the bounds of love one cannot see,
shelter of my soul so fierce, my precious heart I ask not pierce.
Innocent petals protect the core, and with thy nectar, does it lure.
A need so deep, one feels its burn, and can't deny its sinful yearn.
Completeness in a sheer delight, darkest dark to lightest light.
Where two are one and one are two, a curse and blessing be held in you.
The pain it brings screams aloud, and remains in comfort behind its shroud.
Thy ways of old becoming new, aglow your face with terror true.
The heart does bleed when love is blind, and those that suffer are of a kind.
A seething fire that scorns the past, yet never tires to make it last.
Within the break of day anew, its compelling agony holds tight to you.
And soon enough you will see it never deserts the rare like thee.
Oh sweetest rose, with thorns so few, let thy heavens above heal you.
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