The Rose

She leaned in closer to hear the den
Of winds and warmth agitate that sweet flower,
Like crimson lullabies was the wilted rose's lament,
Trembling, blooming, sighing - breath of temptation.
She felt the shiver from the rose;
He awakens, vitality growing,
Aggression lulling,
A plume of soft pinks,
His vigor, extrinsically pulled, glows beneath his core,
And in raw descent, a careful pluck -
The rose wilts no more.
She holds the stem and touches each petal,
The flesh a velvet sensation.
Then in her hair she doth let rest the rose,
His sweetness so near to her senses.
The sound of feathers flash next to her ear,
She turns to behold her intruder,
But instead she opens her eyes
Upon the spot she held slumber,
The rose had gone
And there reality left only weeds of pewter.

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