The leaves
of rose
In the middle
of the pages,
Of my diary
reveal patterns,
a makebelieve story
of us,
images swirl
familiar, fragrant
a horde of
fragile memories,
rinsed with thrill
delicate
as the porcelain
of my moods,
and a heart lost
in a million
thoughts of you.
©i_am_pro_at_my_perfections