You are this heart’s prose in a rose,
the room in my mind
lucid in all its feelings
that keeps the soul in each poem,
the essence in every meaningful essay.
What if tomorrow begins its relapse
as soon as the color of your
words turn to rust
caused by uncertainties barely clinging
upon a surface where
no secret could be hunted.
Don’t let it fade
don’t let it break
Will the road end with your love or hate?
I need no wealth from your mind
nor the touch of gold from your rhymes.
They aren’t what I came here for.
But the light of the star that
flows from your sun perhaps
is what I’ve burned for.
Like you may never get to know
how you’ve always been
the city I would always long
to get lost in
the city I’d always love
to go home to.
– geena, aug 2016