Bewitched By The Rose

When told to pick a flower, you immediately picked the Rose. Aroused by its nakedness, rouge and elegant clothes. Struck by its tall, sharp and vouge pose. Bewitched by the beauty and in time your lust grows.

But when you picked the Rose you thought it's stubborn layers would fall. That with each and every compliment, each defenceless petal would crawl . Instead it remained as abdurant and rigid as a wall.

Eventually, like a boy you failed.
The exhausting time and effort, meant you bailed. You never quite looked back, just placed the art on the wall perfectly nailed. And so it was never the love only the lust which prevailed.

You was spell bound by the scent, which you proudly inhaled,
distracted by the body of which one day would stale, then neglected watering it and so eventually her growth failed. And so with the minerals in the roots, away she sailed.