Gift Of Love

He always gives me flowers before he goes away.

He likes to think of me sweeping past the flowers,

and a silk robe.

My hand gently touching the flower tops

as I softly whisper his name.

***

When

In reality, I rush past

in an old white terry robe .

Camera in hand, I take photos including macros,

filling the camera with the beauty that he has given me.

Or

Watercolors, begging to fill a sketch I have made of the daisy's.

Thirsty paint brushes keeping me company.

His one thought is correct.

I always whisper his name.

***

No matter why or how.

Shared love is always amazing.

Love you. Me.