The Visit

You hand me the bracelet without meeting my eyes - A wordless expression that betrays the casualness between us. It's a symbol, a sign That you haven't forgotten. My face burns with emotion and I quickly turn to face the sea As decade-old feelings crash through my veins. I open my palm to find a string of blood-red roses - Ten bakelite buds that threaten to bloom. The cold December wind suddenly reminds me of my present. I know I'm breaking the rules by accepting this gift – The red rose is an ancient symbol of intention, Of love stronger than thorns. But this is precisely why I can't hand it back. Courting the illicit, I place it on my wrist. I am shackled. Later that night, after you've gone, I lie next to him in the dark and count the buds between my fingers, Like rosary beads. Each one a prayer to the past, A commemoration of our communion.