The Language of The Flowers
When words fail me —
give her my bouquet of flowers.
Each petal with its own meaning,
like your eyes in every hour.
Your touch is ever soft
Yet it grips my heart with thorns.
I prick myself on your satin sheets,
Love — is as fearless as it warns.
Water them and sweet smell
— shall ruminate through the room.
The flowers are only young!
Don’t let them die so soon.
For now they live and breathe,
at the mercy of your power
O’ my love was only as pure
as your favourite flowers.
- A. R.
Posted May 23, 2022, 3:29 PM UTC
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