"Rose Petal,"
he desires to call me,
and how appropriate, I muse,
since his eyes, his hands,
his lips on mine,
serve as life-giving water,
soil, and sun,
nurturing the love we share.
"Rose Petal,"
he sighs,
lifting his mouth
from my skin, for a moment.
"Rose Buds,"
he then mumbles,
after tasting my nipples,
and we share tender, wry laughs.
"Rose Petal,"
he whispers, as we lie
bathed in candlelight,
the scent of jasmine mingling
with the musk of our lovemaking,
his fingertips caressing my arm,
then trailing to the small of my back
while we hold each other close.
"Rose Petal,"
he calls me,
and how appropriate, I muse,
as the way he adores
and appreciates me
through loving acts
and considerate words
causes me to blossom for only him.
