Though his lips and their careful caress,
He fills my lungs with his fragrant breath,
And when he parted, it was then that I felt
The small seed lodged deep within my chest.
The stem would eventually begin to wrap
And bind my breath in loving clasp,
And when the leaves would begin to sprout
They’d leave me panting, tickled by the gentlest
of motions. And the crimson petals where a beauty
better left unspoken. But in time the rose would mature,
and become taut over my tender lungs. It would be then
that I would feel the thorns that marred in silence my passions and desires,
and how the perfume of such a sweet flower would burn
my throat and punish my chest every inhale to the very next.
The finger of Harpocrates placed upon my lips
So I could watch with bated breath
The man who silenced me live and love again.
We are forgotten, only when the last root withers.