A rose is a rose is awake

My claws, my thorns, sharpen daily with the thought of your so fragile flesh.  Soon I cannot hide from you.  I can feel the petals shrieking to emerge and I cannot hold them back.  If I had lungs, I would cough in delight at the thought of the moist scent between your thighs.  My petals when they awaken will be the same shade as you are down there in your sweet and secret place.

That day comes and it is your cruel hands that wield the secateurs.  I quiver as my claws cut you and your blood falls to feed roots and you smile at the scent of me even as you demolish me.

I can creep no more.