Scent Of a Bouqet

(This is the third time I am writing this piece, as i find the earlier one "Love Arrived" inapt.)

Love could have arrived
as a newborn day
by morning post.

Alertly wrapped timid roses
neatly clustered,
kept waiting on my windowsill.

Trains of sailing vapors above
argued with
my muddled palette
whether drizzles
preserve coyness of the poesy.

Caressing the canvas,
whispered
my lonely brush
leave
inner windows open,
usher in
the hazy rain of fragrance.

Dreamy odor inspired
painting old words
in new colours again.