The summer sets this back in motion,
An answer to a simple quotient.
Or question, don’t question, the time in between
the Days we’re apart don’t seem so obscene.
If every time there passed an hour,
I’d receive a single flower,
Then I would wait for three whole days,
and give you red roses in 72 ways.
I pray I can be on your mind,
You say ‘you’re mine’ and ‘mine, all mine’.
But to me this still feels so surreal,
This classical meter both sees and feels.
As classical as my mandolin in the corner,
Or the fact that my lips could never scorn her.
Adore her, don’t bore her or ever abhor her,
For I never find enough time to explore her
Eyes like a diamond in a diamond stack,
I give you these flowers and will never look back.
Written on their petals, love letters to you,
Because throwing stones will no longer make do.
So here I stand with these roses so red,
Composed of the previous words I just said.
One hours separation
equals one flower’s maturation.
A drive down the thruway,
an orchid for you, K.
