Numbered

Magnolias broke out at below zero, blushed, hung on naked branches.

For one long year, half heartedly, I accepted defeat over the quarter you bet wearing a devilish grin.

With satisfaction, you drew an infinity on my wrist with wet finger, marked the beginning of a decade’s promises.

A dozen yellow roses wilted on the teak table where conversations, laughter and passion are still lingering.

The bare magnolia tree, shamefully, stretches out towards the winter sun.