In the twilight of warm shades,
where petals whisper secrets to the wind,
I bloom—soft yet thorned,
a muse born of shadow and fire.

Smoke spirals in slow dances,
filling the air with promises unspoken,
while beneath the velvet surface,
a venom courses, sweet as honey.

I am the dark side of the bloom,
rooted in mysteries and nourished by desire,
a flower thriving in soil too rich for innocence,
too sacred for regret.

Trace my silhouette in starlight;
feel the pull of my orbit.
Each petal drips with want,
each thorn hums with longing.

I am not from here,
a Venusian exile wrapped in earthly disguise,
aching for the skies I’ve lost,
but learning to seduce this strange gravity.

Breathe me in—
the fragrance of secrets,
of sultry nights
and whispered sins.

But tread lightly;
this bloom wilts for no hand
too clumsy to hold its duality:
beauty and decay entwined.

From the ashes of old flames,
I rise again and again,
a bouquet of contradictions,
a testament to the allure of shadows.