The Offer

I saw the offer,
nuanced with grace.
The perfect hue, precisely timed,
no flaw, no misused space.

I saw the offer,
and it was divine.
And my two hands
had the desire to make it mine.

It had three windows;
it had one door.
There were no opinions
to call it better or call it worse.

I saw the offer;
it was on display,
but it seems one just takes
what one can pay.

And the sunny three windows
became a gray curtain in one;
the garden with jasmine’s aromas,
a wannabe cactus, just that.

The offer was perfect,
the dream was intense,
and days, months later,
they burnt like incense.

One day, He followed me
without asking me “why.”
He smiled at my sadness
and brightened my nights.

He painted the roses
while making me play
and reminded me we’re never
an item on display.

I built a new one
with windows and doors,
a garden with roses
where he runs non-stop.

It is not like the offer,
but I swear this is real.
My dogs and my roses!
That’s a good deal!
That’s better than perfect;
that’s not a display.
That’s not an offer,
as a kind soul is never on sale.