Red Ink

You leave marks all over my body.

Red ink resembling blood.

Traces of your touches.

I crave.

I desire.

I lust.

For your touch.

„Touch me again,“ I command.

And suddenly,

I feel your warmth once more.

Your skin against mine.

Harsh kisses on my neck.

A sensation that spreads all over my body.

I yearn.

I yearn for you.

We continue.

Until my body is covered in red ink.

Rose

She is beautiful, as exquisite as a wild rose.

Growing freely and fearlessly.

She possesses a beauty that demands attention.

Irresistible to gaze upon and admire.

She enchants you, so subtly that you don’t realize until you find yourself standing right before her.

Yearning to pluck her from the earth and claim her as your own, and yours alone.

You dare to touch.

You recoil.

Examining your fingers, you find thorns.

Thorns so sharp, they cut you open.

This sweet, light red blood trickles down your fingers.

You watch as those drops slowly fall onto the rose petals.

And suddenly, she flourishes.

She becomes larger and even more enchanting.

She grows each time someone attempts to steal her and possess her for themselves.

She grows through pain.

She will persist in growing.

Until someone requests permission to claim her first.

Only then will the thorns spare someone’s hand from bleeding.