Rose

He asked my name with a trembling smile,

Said he’d been watching me for a while.

And when he spoke, the whole room froze,

“Can I call you… Rose?”

I felt the blush rushing to my face,

The world got quiet, slowed its pace.

His voice was warm, his eyes were gold,

And suddenly my heart felt bold.

⸻

He calls me Rose,

Says my fragrance stays on his clothes.

That I bloom in his mind everywhere he goes,

Yeah… he calls me Rose.

And I don’t know how he sees me so,

But darling, it feels like home—

Every time

He calls me Rose.

⸻

He holds me close like something rare,

Touches my cheek like a whispered prayer.

Says my laughter feels like spring,

Like soft winds brushing angel wings.

I never knew a name could warm,

Could chase away every passing storm.

But when he says it soft and low,

My petals open, sweet and slow.

⸻

Maybe I’m shy, maybe I scare,

Maybe I’ve been hurt more than my share.

But when he breathes that name so true,

I swear I start to bloom anew.

⸻

He calls me Rose,

Says my sweetness softens his lows.

Says he keeps my scent tucked close,

Like sunlight under winter snows.

And darling… I suppose,

I’m learning what real love shows—

Every time

He calls me Rose.

(Outro: gentle hum, soft “mm-mm… he calls me Rose…”)