It came to me in English Class.

[thebo]

I picked the rose
out of the garden
that was most appealing.

My hand,
touching your delicate stem;
I breathed in your air.

After a while
I notice no blood
and no thorns.

Every rose has it's thorn
Did i miss your thorn?
Or do you not have any?

Are you designed with no protection?
Let my second hand cover you
and be your thorns.

I shall be your water,
your sun,
and your source of life.

Or will you sprout thorns?
Make my hands bleed
when I let my guard down?

My hands will bleed
but my heart
will not flinch.

Let your thorns sprout.
Together, we can endure
a thorn's touch.

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Not sure about the ending.

But you get the general idea, right?

Revision is needed, but its still a rough idea on what I thought.