thorns of speech
As I see myself in your eyes, the rain falls over my heart. A monsoon of numb pain and fear in myself takes root. But love, a rose with the most wonderful aroma of floral petals. Germinates and emerges from the heart itself. The rose seeks the light that is you. But to manifest it must by the word become realized. It emerges from my heart to my stomach and to my throat. But it is to late, its thorns have shredded my traquea. I cannot bring my torn mouth to speech. I choke on the words I never said.