In times like these, I get all nostalgic about the times, about you.
Your brown eyes, stained with chocolate.
Your brown skin, like tender wood.
Your dark messy curls, as dark as the night can get.
Your two dimples that appear when you smile that beaming smile of yours.
You, you were art.
Art that I couldn't afford.
YOU ARE READING
Rosētum
PoesiaHere lie the roses, the roses that are the foundation of my rose garden, pluck them gingerly, here lie the roses that grew full of toxins and purity. Here lies my heart, My Rosetūm. All pictures in the story are mine!
