Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

English Rose

She kissed me and called me her English rose,

like that luscious lullaby,

that we heard on the shop radio, as we held hands in the freezer section.

I was frozen by my indecision.

Did I tell her about how complex my identity was, or let her rest, with her cute nickname for the girl she loved?

Did I have to overcomplicate it?

All around me,

ice was thawing,

and it was dawning on me, that sometimes, someone loves you beyond reason,

and it’s unreasonable to pick their affection apart,

so I left my lips busy with an ice lolly,

poised and perfect like an English rose.

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