Of Nectar and Sweets

My finger bled on the rose bud
as it blossomed and bloomed.
I licked the taste of my own blood
off the flower and swooned
from the sweetness I savored
and the sight of it, too.
I grew drunk from this flavor
that I’ve passed on to you

with a kiss from my lips,
with the breath from my lungs,
with the beating of my heart,
with the blood that has run
from my fingers to your hands
where they’re grasping beneath
the rouge-colored petals
of nectar and sweets.

I pluck a bud from the rose bush,
pass t...