Untitled Poem

he sits and stares
at the rose he took
plucked from

the bush in his
lover’s garden when he
arrived and she

stands at the
griddle her head bent as
she scrambles eggs

he squeezes lemons
for fresh lemonade and
thinks of how she

took the flower
from his hands and smiled
called him a hopeless

romantic she put
it in her best vase
and though she knew

it was from her own
front yard he could tell she was
pleased with it

they eat in content
silence happy to be simply
near each other

then the couple
finishes and stands up
goes over to the

next room and gently
waltzes to the low murmur
of the news on

the radio as
they twirl around the worn
couch his hand warm

on her waist she grips
the plastic of his other
hand and softly smiles


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