The Visit

You hand me the bracelet without meeting my eyes -
A wordless expression that betrays the casualness between us. 
It's a symbol, a sign
That you haven't forgotten.

My face burns with emotion and I quickly turn to face the sea
As decade-old feelings crash through my veins.
I open my palm to find a string of blood-red roses -
Ten bakelite buds that threaten to bloom.

The cold December wind suddenly reminds me of my present.
I know I'm breaking the rules by accepting this gift –
The red rose is an ancient symbol of intention,
Of love stronger than thorns.

But this is precisely why
I can't hand it back.
Courting the illicit, I place it on my wrist.
I am shackled.

Later that night, after you've gone, 
I lie next to him in the dark and count the buds between my fingers,
Like rosary beads.
Each one a prayer to the past,
A commemoration of our communion.