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The Secret Admirer

Another morning and another perfect rose splashed

scarlet across Jane’s doorstep from a cloudless blue sky.

Such a cliche, hissed her sister through gritted teeth

as yet another infant bit down on her teat.

Jane smiled as she sliced lemons for the Earl Grey

and planned yet another glass vase from Habitat.

The petals faded and flaked like old newspaper.

When they found her she was lying on a bed of thorns.

Photograph by the author


This post first appeared on The Purple Hermit, please read the originial post: here

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