Your Collection

Your foliage is dipped in wine-red blood.

The thought comes unbidden –

Did you impale yourself on your thorns?

Shoulders back, you deny your wound and

Brandish rapiers high.

I admire from a distance;

repulsed and drawn by your beauty,

galled and fascinated,

desire  provokes me and I


The blood-drops

fall on your leaves,

trophies to add

to your