- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Bleeding Rose
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Love is bitter-sweet. All we see is the rose, it compells us completely. We do not notice the thorns until they prick us and we bleed, red from our hearts. I envy those lucky few that see, smell and touch the rose and never feel the pain of loves thorns. But oh how much sweeter is the smell when the senses are piqued by pain and the wanting of the red rose increases when strife must be felt to attain it. How quickly we forget the thorns when the aroma of the rose perfume reaches us again.
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