What She Said

first the sun rose, bustin up the cuddle coma. she rose. I rose. heads a-stuffed with snuggle soma. on a quiet tuesday morning treetops rose, golden into the sun. and she told a story about a rose. that rose you felt she said: yesterday, when you felt that rose, fingers parting petals gently probing through luscious layers of enviable softness down to the secret center of the flower. yea, even unto that stiff little stamen. and out again, dusty with pollen, messy with the scent of a rose. I was that flower. That’s what she said.