The Bramble

I bumbled through the bramble.

Pricks and stings and me entwined.

They cut me deep and deeper

As I stumbled through the vine.

​

I fell out onto a clearing

Where I bled smally on the grass.

And though this moment pains me,

I pray to gods it lasts.

​

She sat above me, beautiful

Upon a throne of thorn.

Her supple flesh caressed by they,

Yet remained untorn.

​

A lady or a queen

Or even better still-

A Goddess of those prickly vines

That wrapped around her will.

​

A step closer, I must!

I could not help but dare.

If she would waste but a breath on me,

I would not want for air.

​

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9c7sur/a_criminal_inquiry/e59xoxc

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