I’ll plant you a garden of roses when the wind is as kind as it is today, and the air is as cold as my skin.
Loud and clear, I hear the air yelling at me, waiting for my blood to boil, but the fire within me died out long ago. There’s nothing left but the cold touch of my fingers waiting for winter to come.
I’ll plant you a garden of roses when the weather is too cold to survive. A red rose standing still in a tundra because the heat between our skin is enough to keep it warm.
I feel it rushing to my ends. I’m the cold bottom of the ocean and you’re the hot wave that keeps returning to me. When your waves come back home, I send my waters to your shore. That’s what it feels like when your skin touches mine.
I’ll plant you a garden of roses within a garden whose limits are set by the vines we’ve grown, behind the walls of a castle built within the walls of our room.
A house so small but it carries our most treasured memories. The wooden floors creak when we dance over them and the living room is small enough to hold us in its arms.
That’s where we danced the first night…
that’s where you sat to work…
that’s the wall I talked to in my dreams.