No Roses

NO ROSES


He brings me watermelon, no roses,
sliced, icy pink, a gift that proposes
soft, samba nights, a willingness to please,
revealing passion, a trembling with ease.


Seeded, pulpy flesh, succulent and fresh,
paired with feta, opposing flavors mesh,
much like this marriage, conjugal high seas,
revealing passion, a trembling with ease.


Juices dripping down chin, and cleavage, too,
licked from skin, an intoxicating brew,
sheen of everyday magic, no guarantees,
revealing passion, a trembling with ease.


He brings me watermelon, no roses,
revealing passion, a trembling with ease.

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