The Rose Garden

I stood naked on the 

ground, feet sinking into

the sponge of the dewy

grass. He met me there

and sprinkled the seeds

around me, in a loose circle.

We agreed to water it

together

The sun set on that 

summer and the roots

that sprouted began to 

spread. with each sun

set and rise millimeters

of green veins were

added. We learned that 

for the roses to flourish 

they would need support

so we added a metallic 

arch over my head - naked 

body still enduring seasonal

shifts

With autumn came the first

buds, the bloom glorious.

Tiny blushing drops eventually 

spread open, filling my nostrils with 

the scent of molasses. My thighs 

and hips were covered in dustings 

of nectar as he pruned, watered

and tended to the new born

sprouts

It continued this way - and 

by the seventh cycle the archway

was laden with the weight of 

roses so dense that a single

flower

would weigh down 

the cup of your palm

As the garden flourished, I kept

looking up in awe of the beauty 

that we nurtured, only rarely ever

taking note of the large and heavy vines

that entwined around my waist 

and breasts, coiled around my feet -

cramping  my calves and aching my

back

It was a byproduct of the beauty, 

a cost at which the garden came. 

In the winter I even took solace in

the tight green shelter - it offered

welcome protection from the frosty cold. 

I was safe.

But all this time, I failed to see that

as the roses grew so too did the jagged,

thick and sturdy thorns. Blinded by the

velvet plush petals, it took me by surprise

how the thorns stealthily grew so large

that they barely noticeably pierced their way 

through my rib cage, puncturing my lungs.

Making it

              impossible 

                               for me 

                                          to breathe.