The front door shuts,
with a bit of a struggle,
and as plastic wrapping chatters,
I can hear that his hands are full.
A sweet smile,
with a gentle grasp,
unveiling a secret surprise—
holding a tidy bouquet bursting with tiny white flowers.
My eyes arch and dimples appear;
I rush to embrace my husband—
throwing my arms around his shoulders.
The occasion of introspection,
translating emotion embodied through the pure white petals,
and the crisp chrysanthemum buds.
They collect together in unison,
bundled into the vibrant stalk with the outstretched leaves.
I shed the plastic wrapping,
and grab a mason jar from the cabinet,
filling it with a rush of clear water for the stems to soak within.
As I awaken this morning,
I’m met with the delicate floral fragrance.
I cherish these moments—
blooming and beaming,
and swell with admiration for my honey-sweet husband.