The Nightingale, the Rose, and What Came After

"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood."— "The Nightingale and the Rose" by Oscar Wilde

The nightingale is dead. The perfect rose
that blossomed crimson as a tongue of fire
dissolves the coolness that is her pose,

unleashes unacceptable desire.
She wants a doggy tongue between her thighs
to blossom crimson as a tongue of fire.

He plays her pet. It comes as no surprise
that dominance and bondage are her games,
that she wants doggy tongue between her thighs.

She puts a rubber collar on him, names
him Fido—fit name for a canine stud,
for decadence and bondage are her games.

She takes the gift he brought, the rose of blood,
inserts it in the rubber collar's notch,
"Here, Fido," fits it on her canine stud.

He doesn't care, while nosing at her crotch,
the nightingale is dead. The perfect rose
inserted in the collar's final notch
destroys the coolness that was her pose.

Note that in the original story, the girl is unimpressed with the rose and, after a nasty exchange, the Scholar forswears love forever. But I don't think Wilde would have been entirely displeased with this revision.
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