The drops of blood
Flows from the
Once cold heart,
That rusted in the
Rain of conflicted
Darkness.
Yet the trauma of
The dark void
Makes her hesitate
To take the next breath,
From cupid's bow.

Red leaves
           fell silently
Under the maple tree
           by the lake
Where we met  
Last autumn
           Late September;
When the maple leaves
             turned crimson
       you made me
blush just like
those scarlet leaves
       That day ...
                                    Autumn came early,
                                  Why don't you,too...?


            Winter's on the way
           Are you, too?


Where are you...?

Most difficult is that moment,
when he smiles at you...........

And instead of doing that happy dance,
and prance around like a magical pixie horse
you just smile, warmly
But your blush.......
The blush gives the game away!

she becomes a cherry blossom -
blushing, shy smiles,
bursting with life.
her petals soak up the sun,
leaves hungry for more -
whenever she's with him.

Lately I've been losing myself from
his smile
his laugh
his humor
his dreams
his passion
his craziness
his personality

Everything about him drives me insane
a simple notification from him brightens up my day
a tease that makes me blush
a wink that makes my heart skip a beat
a smile that makes my blood rush

Uncertainty is inevitable
but one thing's for sure
I'm more than happy to lose myself to him
Everyday

It's only been one month and sixteen days since I met you
but believe me when I say you already mean so much to me

Our English Rose
by Michael R. Burch

for Christine Ena Burch

The rose is—
the ornament of the earth,
the glory of nature,
the archetype of the flowers,
the blush of the meadows,
a lightning flash of beauty.

NOTE: This is my translation of a Sappho epigram. It was originally titled "Sappho's Rose" before I chose to dedicate it to my mother, Christine Ena Burch, who was born and raised in England. Keywords/Tags: Rose, ornament, glory, nature, archetype, flowers, blush, meadows, flash, beauty, lightning

Violets
by Michael R. Burch

Once, only once,
when the wind flicked your skirt
to an indiscreet height

and you laughed,
abruptly demure,
outblushing shocked violets:

suddenly,
I knew:
everything had changed.

Later, as you braided your hair
into long bluish plaits
the shadows empurpled,

the dragonflies’
last darting feints
dissolving mid-air,

we watched the sun’s long glide
into evening,
knowing and unknowing.

O, how the illusions of love
await us in the commonplace
and rare

then haunt our small remainder of hours.

Published by Romantics Quarterly, Muse Apprentice Guild, Victorian Violet Press, Boston Poetry Magazine, and Poetry on Demand

Keywords/Tags: Violets, flowers, wind, skirt, blush, hair, shadows, sunset, evening, love, illusions, time, commonplace, rare

Winter rain -
dark aureole like raindrops 
on leaves, drooping like *******.
Mirrored in pools
trees blush.

soft blonde hair
plush kisses on my cheek
fingers tracing circles
at the edge of the creek
confessions
and blushing cheeks
wiping tears
fixing the leaks
lips on skin
gentle heat
a warm summer day
with a love so sweet