Roses

and sometimes he sends me roses
bouquets of mellow scarlet
with petals made of silk
and thorns that prick my fingers

and sometimes he sends me books
page after page of woeful
stories, words knitted together
by a thousand threads of yarn

and sometimes he sends me chocolates
box upon box filled to the brim
with i'm sorrys and
i promise it won't happen agains

and sometimes he leaves me bruises
tiny fingerprints on my skin
whorls embossed in inks the
colour of periwinkle blue

but sometimes he sends me roses
and for now, that is enough