Roses on water. Pink flowers. Floating. Cradled by the waves. Beams of silvery light. The Moon shines on their leaves. One flower catches my eye. How beautiful she is. She flows with ease. In full awareness of her blossoming. She magnetizes the light. Makes the moon shine brighter. Her rosy color reflects the spheres. Rose tinted clouds on the horizon. Shimmering stars on the sky. Blooming leaves. On the silvery surface of the water. The rose is calling me. I want to touch her, smell her, feel her. Closer. I want to reach her. Melt with her beauty and ease. Her glamour and magic.
I pick her up. Her hidden thorns penetrate my skin. The sharp ivory smell of blood meets her odor. Red blood drops into the water. Below the silvery surface. A growing web of bloody strings. Fading. Red turns to rose. Is it blood that nourishes her? Is it blood that makes her pink? My blood nourishes her glow. Nectar for her blooming. She turns pain into pleasure. Blood into beauty. I let her flow in the water. My fingers are cold. I suck the blood from my hand. Sweet now. With a taste of rosy liqueur that softens my face. I smile. She glows. We flow.
I see a butterfly. Observing the scene. Watching us carefully. A butterfly that sees her. Sees me. From above. Is it Mercury? He comes to me. Sends me this image. Mercury, the messenger. The Magician. The story teller. Mercury – a butterfly. He sends me whispering ideas – on behalf of the Rose.