When would a thorn and petal,
                 look so unavailable.
One sharper than any wit,
that would make you laugh
                at even the saddest moment.


Smooth like sandpaper always saying
               the mostly badly timed
                                                    replies...
Yet her voice was scented and smooth.
              No matter what her words
                                             wrapped around,
no offence could be taken.


I offered her a rice crispy cake when we
                                                               first met..
As she struggled for breath I started the
                            kiss of life..

Then she grabbed her pen stabbing it in my arm
                                 not hers..
                                the blood and all I remember

was lips on mine.. she'd managed to pen herself.
I didn't realise she had a nut allergy.
         but as I awoke her lips breathing into me.
I thought id repay the favour.

                        I've never been kissed so passionately
                                                     before death she said.

I was her petal and she was the thorn.

                           she'd giggle at a funeral,
  

I'd cry thoughts of the past of what was cut short.

               but in her eyes, it wasn't sadness but joy,

that so many had turned up to see you
             this last time. And the dreadful outfit
                        you'd picked to spend eternity in.