The crimson on your petal has lost its aesthetic appeal,
Once smoothly textured, you’ve become prickly,
One touch that could make medicine ill,
Bloom they say like the flower you are,
Regressing back to a seed only dilutes your potential by far,
If you were a planet, you would be called Venus the reluctant star,
What happened to the passion that runs skin deep in your hue?  
Your thorns express the type of painful beauty,
Only those that are admired from afar can do.

Indeed the light that shined on your peers,
Will find its time to shine on you,
But patience is only a virtue if the outcome flourishes,
Into the type of majestic beauty,
Only a great late bloomer can do.

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love—put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.