Garden

a blood red rose
given to you
because the passion
races thru me
in the same manner
the passion
makes my back
tingle
with the memory of your nails
warms my lips
so when I run
my tongue across them
I taste you
hardens my nipples
as I remember
the rock-tipped softness
of your breasts
crushed against me
my back arches
my breath catches
the muscles in my legs
straighten and lock
straining
my fingers tight
pinching the sheets
into pointed tents
my cheek
feels the golden strands
of your hair
clinging
with hard-won perspiration
my ears
hear and feel
the warm rush
or your tired lungs
my eyes are closed
viewing the past
all this
evoked by a single rose
I think
I shall plant a garden.