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.
