Midnight Rose

A tall midnight rose stemmed outside my window when the stars were electric with rain. 

 

The most beautiful shade of black you’ve ever seen,

under the stars that casted silver and gold hues across the lawn making it the only imperfect thing in my window.  

 

It was captivating to watch, how his petals, velvet, was clinging to his form; 

the way the rain dripped helplessly off his hair onto the soft grass; 

and the way he stood there waiting for me to open the window.

 

My midnight rose was soaking wet in the electric night, just to see my warm bright smile. 

I watched  him with amazement in my eyes, my rose was turning red. 

 

First his cheeks that came with the arrival of the heat of the room, 

then his nose from standing out in the rain, 

and lastly his lips as I placed a gentle kiss onto them. 

 

The midnight rose was now a warm red with pink accents.

 His eyes glued to the ground as he swiped his long hair back, trying to hide his flushed face. 

His velvet petals fall to the floor and I sweep in with a purple fluffy towel. 

Wrapping him from behind, his smile is as bright as the moon peeking behind the clouds. 

 

The midnight rose was now a beautiful violet color, with fluffy petals that hung poorly by his sides.

 

Safely in my arms the rose finally said he was sorry. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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