Room of Roses

She breathes deeply.

The shine in her hair glows
with the dull red tone
of roses.

Sweet smell,
like dewdrops in springtime,
like fond memories
wafts about her.


“It’s the ambiance,”
she says
as she clips a blossom
“The aesthetic that breathes
like a cat in the sun.
It sings to me,
thought most cannot hear.”

And she smiles.

This room of roses,
like the crimson in her blush,
thrives and grows
under a loving touch.