Holding a single rose, he gently sweeps its soft petals like a paintbrush across her forehead.
A tear, never squandered, slips down his shadowed cheek.
The scent of the rose permeates his thoughts like a thousand pollinating honey bees stinging the words he must say.
Biting her lip, she stretches up to meet him,
captures his tear on her tongue, brings it to his lips with a kiss.
“I have to go,” he whispers.
“I love you,” she replies.