White Rose

In your petals, the prism of love burns bright warming stem’s afterglow, though drained of any color you are a rainbow. Beauty’s vase is unable to contain all your splendor, a garden of heavenly scent you do render. Devoid of musical instrument, offspring of lyrical perfection you do sire, white as snow, your touch yielding eternal fire.

You are a masterpiece from the earth, an epilog to your lover’s bed. Rodan’s ‘The Kiss’ sprung to life, Sir Percy Blakeney’s pretense of the Scarlet Pimpernel, sexual cravings bled. You are an invitation through the ivory gates of French Lace, tension dripping with passion’s nectar, your lover having fed, succulent lips stained cherry red.

You are Johnny Mercer’s pen, Monet’s brush, Mother Nature’s overture, the sea within. You are a romantic stroll in Venice on a summer day, a teenage girl’s first crush. You are the caressing sounds of the Bee Gee’s First of May, a moonbeam’s grin.

Trickles of your aroma’s mist fall soft fragrancing my skin, blossoms saturating my heart, loves pollen dripping from every pore. You are Beauty & the Beast’s Vincent reciting poetry to Catherine; you are my Jane Eyre heart begging for more.

Copyright © 2017 Angela Marie Suor


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