These flowers by my window, remind me of you

Not pink, not orange, not red, nor blue,

Just simple, elegant, cream-coloured blooms,

That spread fragrance through consecutive rooms,

Filling my head with you and me,

Of wine with dinner, scones for tea…

Of passions shared, of secrets told,

Of loves forgotten, trifling, old,

Of futures longed for, dreamed about,

Of abandoned defences, banished doubt.

These simple flowers, my sensual prompt,

Of what I long for, desire, want,

Not fame, not fortune; no grand design,

Just the feeling as your hand rests in mine.