I waited for you to return from work, to see how I arranged them, how carefully, on everything in the room, even the carpet, but not the bed. Knowing how I feel for you, that I waited for this moment, how could you reject my offering? I’ve been counting the petals as I strip them, one by soft one, from the long, supple stems. Stripped. Soft. Supple. Sigh. Looking at you, I’ve lost count. No going back. When I’ve finished, I’ll close your eyes before I roll you in the thorns.
(from notes I made on a news item several years ago)