Today’s genre: Romance; Today’s photo:
You used to bring me roses from your garden.
You were 40, I was 17…a virgin…and
Imagined this was true love…
You were married…but maybe someday.
We sneaked around, mere kisses, holding hands.
You asked if I knew what a “concubine” was…
I lied, “yes”…embarrassed to admit ignorance…
I lived for each time we met.
Your little daughter was precocious…
Told her mother you brought roses to me.
You lost respect of your peers who
Observed lecherous looks and
Had my well-being in mind.
Goodbyes…then we ran into each other
Years later, after both our divorces.
I was prize you no longer coveted…
Not fresh rosebud anymore.
I tossed the pressed rose petals saved…
The ones from your garden.
©Ennle Madresan, 2019 ~ All rights reserved.