May 1 Rose Poem

Rose, a flower with the thorns

Fruit in the barns

Barricades and handcuffs 

Blemishes and bluffs

Are only for those

Who can understand rose

For that rose

One day he rose

From the bed 

And bleed from thorns

Listening to her stories 

Of all the country barns

A whore, a bitch 

A slut who stitch

Stories, forgeries

Tired, tainted

Had got fainted

In his own barn

Where he fell 

Was in her lap

His destiny did clasp

Long before the sunshine

Days passed 

They started enjoying silhouettes 

And the intimate sex

In the grass 

In the fields

In the barns

With clothes darned

She never got kinks

She was submissive 

Supporting him

In his all kinks

He though doubted

Her character 

He asked

"Why did you cheat many

Wasn't they treat you, honey

Or was it mere money?"

"Barns were empty

Barns were grave

I was empty

I was naive

They called their friends 

They called their relatives

Males have come

Females arrived

In those dry barns 

Always my flesh burned

They were habituated 

They have enjoyed

I remained empty

Dusty smokey flair

Yet to be graved

Yet to be graced

With the seminal fluids

Of many men 

Drenched 

Deep in saliva 

And urine of women

Not sure I've been stingy

If blamed wrath whore slut

Ran and ran and ran

Every rain, picking 

Every grain of smile

Looking at sky

Above my head

Dreaming similar gift

I could ever attain".

Longing were my eyes too

To see a woman nude

Nesting in my lap and arms

Trusting my sweat and breathe

Breastfeed me under sun and moon

Lusting all my kinks 

Lest I behave loon

Pinching all my fat

Letting me return you all

And I'm tired describing 

Can't scribble darling 

...

Thus the loons match

And swim in selflessness