They think their love is like a blood-red rose.
Its petals are the wings of butterflies,
he says, just seventeen under the skies,
that leapt upon a stem and huddled close.
She kisses it; its redness overflows
onto her lips. Singing him lullabies
they hold each other – he looks into her eyes
and dreams their future. She believes, but knows
the most perfect of roses has its roots,
far, far beneath the flower – and to grow
more beautiful, or put out greener shoots,
he will take root in her – 
                                               (…like butterflies
descending, taking nectar, and below,
the essence of her rose.)
                                              – softly, she cries.


  1. Haha so sweet (and filled with sexual connotations at the same time coughs, if you didn’t intend it i have been reading too much john donne!) love the butterfly on stem imagery damn nicee!

    the last line seems a bit out of place though!



    1. It was meant to be slightly erotic, I’ve seen the female virginity described as yes a rose, and she is crying not because I have to rhyme but because in the possible future they share she will have to have her rose rutted by him.

      I wish I could have more inspiration like this more often –



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