Flowery Adoration

The colour of his eyes the same as the roses in my hands,
dark yet just as floral.

Do I like him,
I get asked,
the answer evades even me,
all I dis was bask.

Now sat in these fields,
realising love it is not,
something other,
something only my heart yields.

In his presence I do not feel flustered,
I feel as though I must do better,
that is it.

A standard setter,
no other thing,
somebody who I look up to,
not only because of height