A rose, from you to me.
Lovely lavender, sweet and gentle,
without thorns, petals unfurled for all to see.
It seems your case is still plenty full.
A rose, from me to you.
Sunny yellow, weary but warm.
Red on its bright hue,
my hand bleeding on a thorn.
“Petals we have already shared,” you say,
“Shall we trade once more?”
My yearning yellow, old and starting to fray.
Your luring lavender, tempting me to my core.
I know it’s my rose you wish to acquire,
yet only petals we trade, filling me with dread.
For no matter how much we desire,
no amount of blood will stain my rose red.
