It was like a long stem relationship with many a thorn.
She wasn't as much of a rose as she was
just a bud.
A girl scarred and scorned,
that had not yet bloomed.
As she cried, she mourned
her youth,
the more she grew.
From the top of her petals
down to her roots;
far reaches at the bottom.
The flower finally blossomed.
The season soon to be over,
the rose stole the luck from the clover.
Four years of lust leaves from a charming lover;
a clever little fellow.
Turned her color from crimson to yellow.
The goodbyes echoed,
with every droplet
as she wept.
Letting go.
Allowing the thirst to take over.
Even though,
she still felt it.
When death
kissed the rose Black Velvet 🥀
