job description ‘a rose picker’

I think I might be someone

with the job description

‘a rose picker’

in another dimension of time.

Wearing milkmaid braids

weaved with strands of

gypsophila

carefully cutting and

pinching roses

off their stems.

On a chilly winter morning

when the jagged sunrays

sneak

from the dense thickets

over my verdant gardens

I would pick five stems

of the deep scarlet ones

and make a bouquet

in your remembrance.

One for your deep-set brown eyes

One for your lips that feel like poetry

One for your voice soothing as an ocean

One for the distracting mole on your neck

One for your blissful touch like an azure sky

Photo by Loris on Unsplash

I will wait for you

beside the brook

that streams in the fringe

of my village.

I will wait for you

till the last ray

of day is ushered

by the dusk.

I will wait for you

like I’ve been waiting

for years, knowing our

intricate life patterns.

Remember,

I will wait for you

and bring you fresh flowers

everyday, in hope

you’ll return.