I am the Thorn

I am the thorn
caught, but far from prick-less

stretched thin
razor-like, but thrillingly,
knee trembling-ly

between baby one
and man two. One is fresh

blushing fit to be
a muscled, broad-backed
Chinese bride. He sips at

Coca-cola only
and comes too early,
thinking – wrongly – it is love

I have not yet
had enough
of him. I call, and think idly

of cats that play with mice

Man two, my second rose
and it is me
left, bereft, wrong-footed

as his visa rings in red. Take me
to Beijing, I beg him

let me
bear the risk of being beaten
or worse, all to feel
your Slavic tongue mime hoarse

against my phone
and body

baby, he adores me
for him, I will blunt my thorn

re-string garlands and write
and pour upon myself
a blush of roses, red and blood
and guts

and give myself, alone
to him.

About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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