The Rose Garden

I'm a flower in his garden.
He the green thumb.
Words so tender along my petals,
Enclosed tightly from him.
As we like to tease-
A rose cannot bloom,
Without absolute trust.

I am so embarrassed that I glow pink,
Before I must bloom to red.
His hands so large with gentle fingers,
Take away my thorns.
He does not yank, he gentle takes,
What he feels does not belong
All the while,
Encouraging me to grow.

My most vulnerable side,
I've finally presented him,
His hands are never harsh, but firm,
And gentle hold me as the day I came.
The look in his eyes,
The sparkle of his voice,
As I present this gift.
I am a beauty he assures, always was.