sweet teeth

Sweeping bony fingers down his heart line

She looked into his eyes

The reflecting spots focusing on a 

Marouge rose

Budding on her pale neck

He traced her collarbones

Drumming softly on the foundation

Holding his fantasy together

He knew his lips grew forms

But this rose:

Budding and frozen,

Now crackling and breathing in veins of dark red and blue

Was not his own.

"Another one planted this rose"

She told him

He turned away 

"Forgive me?"

She asked him

Thoughts recollected he turned back to her smiling 

Every man will get his wish 

And each woman a garden 

Made of her own skin

And his lips.