she licked the blood from her fingertips
that the thorns of the rose had pricked
blossoming and running on her skin
to be taken by her gentle tongue
it was deep and red and spellbinding
and tasted of bitter disappointment
of ideas bordering on emotions
and urges hidden away deeply
it crept down her skin smoothly
quietly revealing what its taste held
but only to those who dare to listen
and the rose held in her other hand
wilted softly and fell to the ground
for it could hear every single story
idea and emotion that the red held
and it was far too much to know
for one simple black rose to handle