I was afraid
To let go
Of the solace of thorns
Let the
Temptation
Of soft flowers
Pierce me.

I bumbled through the bramble,
****** and stings and me entwined.
They cut me deep and deeper
As I stumbled through the vine.

I fell out onto a clearing
Where I bled smally on the grass
And though this moment pains me
I pray to gods it lasts.

She sat above me,  beautiful,
Upon a throne of thorn.
Her supple frame caressed by they,
Yet remained untorn.

A lady or a fairy...
Or even better still!
A godess of those prickly vines
That wrapped around her will!

With every step the ivy squeezed
And yet I dare not care.
If she would waste but a breath on me,
I would not want for air...

A shriek. Her song.
The way she sways as her mouth opens ever so slightly to release its cursed vocals.
A familiar tune, I used to hum.
In the tub, while looking at the crumbling roof.
Always whispered, never spoken loud.
Always shy, never proud.
Soaked in the water's silky grasps, floating.
Sinking.
Drowning.
In her gentle embrace.
Tempting, tempting.
It's cold.
She's warm.
No air, no heart.