Red, Red Rose

We walk,
barely talk,
finger tip to finger tip
brush unknowingly,
like two strangers 
that just met.

We liked
one another, 
once, when we walked
hand in hand on a beach, 
far away now, we grew
on the vine.

We were tangents,
to our circle, we bended 
to the dedication of marriage, 
now we have grown
agreeably 
quiet.

The red rose is now thorny and white.

©  right now, Denise A White   love poems • friends poems • love-lost poems