You sit on the roses
I left on your sofa
Where we once kissed
I cannot determine the dreary poetry
Posies and poses were ardent
You sleep on my thighs usually
I bathe in thighs of supple sexuality
I love your hair, and the complex smell
When I smell the fragrance
The heart flutters
They used to say that desolate men need
Je te veux
I hand you nosegays
From the brick laid eyes of apartment blocks
Called windows, too open
That they let in a sporadic zephyr
The flowers, violets and red roses
Flit in the fuchsia scented wind
Flowers waltz as a goddess does
Maybe, that's why violets make you chuckle
Or maybe, I'm just lucky to loved by you