Roses And Thorns Poem by James McLain

from
the middle
how it oozes
dark rich blood
it runs from
red puffy lips
how they shine
raisins dried in the sun
lolly pops
are not always blue and pink
not as red as her sweet wine
sucking noises
soft whimpers and quite cries
yellow hearts that stained
how they cry
they both/know that
but it is
with salted palms
hers a very small
hued rustic mask
that hides it all
roses and a thorn
cause it to bleed
'roses'—only 'lily' knew
he expanded you
you washed it off
my finger moves her back
against the wall
and when I'm done
she can see
how she became
the beautiful woman
that she is.