My Beloved

a poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

Ouch!
Elvira has been at it again
picking flowers in the glade
those rare ones
that thrives in the shade of an oak.
I’ve told her often enough
that they are a part of me
and by picking them
she sends shock waves up my spine,
not unpleasant mind,
but it makes my heart races too fast.
Yes, that’s better put them in a vase
cool the stems
be gentle
and we’ll give you great pleasure for days.