Three Short Words

A dozen budding red roses sit

In a transparent glass vase,

Comfortably on a fireplace mantle.

His deep blue eyes catch hers,

And his knees turn weak,

And she draws in a heavy breath,

Quiet and rigid.

He whispers three short words,

His lips like a quivering bow.

His voice is just loud enough

To be heard.

I love you.

The dozen roses come full bloom

One by one.

She stares at

all she’s ever wanted

and uncovers

Her pearly white teeth

stained with coffee.

She nods in silent agreement,

His shoulders drop

And he throws his head back with laughter.

The dozen red roses will wither in time,

One by one,

Comfortably on a fireplace mantle.