Skimming across the surface of sleep she longed to sink in.

Lingering to smell the roses she sunk

into the future

they thrust themselves armed with dreams and ical

No longer the recipients of Friday night passion they snuggled back into their memories

Long ago lovers, both hidden and seen – the old, the tall, the beloved.

Pining for what cannot be, their limbs fill with knowing

Trapped in the clasped of her own hands she weaves her tale of rich and endless repetition

Bless me Father for I have sinned while Sister Mary Joseph wandered in the garden.

Full blown roses of promise and perfume – the one who did not arrive.

Blessed be, and rest in peace, there is nothing can be done now.

The grass grows long, forgotten and lost, and beneath the earth he is remembered.

Damp beneath her feet, she trips and falls, clasping her bridal bouquet.

Yellow, butter, golden fragrant- fill me up and save me.

Bring me back from the ical and planning to this present, perfumed moment.