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.