My favourite flower blooms in red,
But it’s no thorny rose.
Though nestled in a luscious bush,
No green leaf around it grows.

In your valley, it coyly hides
Until a lens draws near,
Its petals turning deeper pink,
Dripping nectar, crystal clear.

The stream turns ruby with the moon,
And streaks alabaster thighs.
Dipped therein your fingers paint,
Patterns to mesmerise.

Trails drawn to tempt thirsty tongues
In intimate crimson ink,
Leading to your iron honey
That I only dream to drink. 

With thrusts deep down your throat
We'd bring each other bliss,
Then join drooling, bloody, cummy lips
In a rainbow kiss.

O scarlet jewel! Pour forth your wine!
Sate my sanguine hunt!
It’s no thorny rose, my favourite flower;

It’s your bloody cunt.