Let’s describe the petals

as being the most vivid, silky red

and the long stem

as green as your eyes

and let’s, for a time,

imagine that the leaves

hold all our memoirs

knowing our youth and innocence,

and the stamen, our deepest desires.

Let’s pretend that the bee

only knows what sorrow

the flower has ever known

and that it is responsible

for its chastity.

Let’s look upon the flower in awe

as we wonder what to call it,

and write a thousand songs

of love and yearning

of it, but leave them all

untitled.

*Dedicated to and inspired by my wife and our talks before sleep.