Thornbuds

The rose's thorn grins madly,
it pricks the air for words
strung, layered as thoughts,
barbed fragrance of rosy pain.

Hidden among leaves
it's the thorn that creates.

Yet, when it's silk and velvet words
become language richly fragrant
the prickly artist is removed
to give the rose sterile perfection.

Heart pierced by a dozen
dark red thornbuds...