Trust Is Crust Like Skin

It is as little, as the rose within your fingers.The tip of one thorn, that wells out it's dropp of blood, on you, so true. They dripp as a search is made for the vase, in water at once cool and such it's stem grows bright and green. Does not it trust you to bring back the scent of all that is again? The kitchen is warm, the oven hotter, the flesh within those doors is potted, in trust, a must for who? Upon your plate it's made and laid so golden brown, in trust a must is once again your hand, it's you it watches upon that skin. It sits so cutely, a hope in prayer, in etiquette you trust, your dictated yes a must, it hopes the skin from the barn yard hen you do not peal from the flashy, it is the best part...... Most are to hungry to argue..a stomach is such to you..