I saw you in the rose garden. Last summer, when the roses were at their peak – luscious reds, whites, pinks and peach parading against verdant foliage.
You, however, put me in mind of the tightly furled buds, keeping their beauty shyly hidden, biding their time, waited to be coaxed into brilliant bloom.
I watched as the young man courted yo with words I couldn’t hear but which made you blush, and I ached to protect you, to send the wordy beau slinking away like a scolded puppy, and ease your distress.
But then you smiled into his flatterer’s eyes, took his eagerly proffered hand and let him draw your lips to his. Your arms encircled his neck and he whispered to you. When you broke apart, you laughed out loud and nodded, and, with his hand on your white-gowned waist, he led you deeper into the voluptuous roses, towards the sheltered centre where lovers go.
Follow the writing prompt on Facebook.
Find Cheryl’s flash fiction and short stories, including audio versions of some, here.
Oh my gosh! Roses do it every time😀
LOL