(For Venus)

The blood red roses have died in the vase,

Their long stems wilted,

And the thorns blunted

That so exquisitely tore your soft, white skin.

Vanished for now the delicious lacerations

And stilled the erotic trickle

Across the buttock’s swell,

The sweet dark crimson sap redolent of those blooms.

But gone, too, the auburn tresses that crowned

Your crystaline curves

And adorned your lissome limbs:

Your flesh awaits fresh wounds; my scars are sealed !

Christopher Drake

Photos by Daniel Bauer www.daniel-bauer.com

This post is also available in: Spanish

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