Crimson red,
resembling dripping blood,
a whisper and a scream,
a flame of passion,
allure of elegance,
a picture of love.

Prick me,
thorns surround,
and make me bleed,
yet delicate petals,
tender, a fragrance so sweet,
with beauty that marks the world.

You are my favorite,
no other can compare,
one, or a thousand blooms,
making your heart skip a beat,
dancing with romance,
enchanting radiance.

Majestic in every way,
the queen of the garden,
dangerous to the touch,
yet I can’t resist,
the thorned nature,
that draws one in,
sweetly divine.