The Place of Roses
She looks and breathes. Look’s and breathes that intrigues me. Her beauty is nothing like I’ve seen before, as I have driven many women, famous and non-famous women. She says nothing until her destination. Her long hair, shines from the sunroof and softly says,
In a French accent as she leaves and properly shuts the door.
I wait, and wait, as a chauffeur does, until I see the lady in a red dress. Appears. Not able to take my eyes off her as I bow and follow.
I start to drive and respectively asked,
“Ma’am where shall I take you?”
She looks and says nothing.
So, I take her. To the palace of roses. The palace of roses that only women in red dresses shall go. A dream. A paradise that opens to those in favour of love and pride.
She sits and stares into the distance. Breathes in the fragrance of roses and stares as I slowly bring a glass of wine. Red wine. As I pour, every drop explodes like a million stars, startling her, however, not in fear, but in curiosity. Fear shall never extend and grow in a relationship in between two people.
So, as we sit. She sips. Small portions of the start struck liquid, and smiles.
A smile of relief, that’s so bright, a million roses start to bloom, all at the same time. As she watches those roses bloom.
She rests her warm head onto my shoulders. The glass of wine drops. I carry her and she unfolds.
Her problems and worries fly like birds and new seeds of life are planted. New opportunities and a new lover. For I shall be that lover, not a controlling dictator but a true lover
I keep on walking, distant and far, until I drop with her in my arms.