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.
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