by Teri

as i lay down on a bed of thorns,
i awake to the touch of your lips on mine.
soft and juicy,
tongue strong and stroked.
ancient old dance,
a meeting of the souls,
minds,
and bodies.
petals of roses
thrown across the floor.
thorns lashing my skin,
drawing blood.
never do i feel it,
nor do i care.
the most beautiful rose,
the sharpest thorn,
lay on me.



Copyright © 1998. Used by permission of author. All Rights Reserved.