Rose of my soul
My calloused fingers close around your stem with meticulous reverence
My skin tastes the claws that prance about with dagger’s peaks
My head is placed between the lion’s jaws
The soul’s fire in these ribs forbids me to cease
Can I ask you to be careful, love?
Can you take heart before you rip my skin
If you should tear away as a fox, starved, from a snare?
Do you not feel the pulse in this neck
Pushing against your sharpened teeth?
Or the pulse of this stupidity
That craves your incense at any cost?
Could ever you guess the danger I am in,
Or the tether in your hands?