I wondered where she'd yield her love.
To me? 
As only I had wished and hoped.

To her prime?
As only I would beg happiness to bless.

These decisions however, are not mine.
Mine yields to hers.
Mine grows with hers.

Just as I grow with mine own.
And she will grow with her own.

These dimensions
These views
These widths and heights
These decisions
These hopes

All surrounded by the potential surrender and in which direction the surrendered shall fall.

For where it falls, it lies.
And where it lies, it blooms.

Like the flower.
Like the Rose.