Poison ivy covers the fences holding hedges of rose. Thorny roses with poisoned tips caress the lover's cheek. Blood mixes with the ivy, a bond to last. The rose's scent still makes the lover heedy and the thorns don't matter. The poison ivy does nothing to infuriate the lover. And love only blossoms, as the ivy climbs and the the roses sway.
Poetic prose, more than a poem. And perhaps a metaphorical rant.