through your venerable visage,
peaked the homely character-
and contrary to the geometrics,
the eyes were glowing with warmth,
plush and ancient like an old family couch.

though it had once been fresh and new,
the stories it could tell through it's winsome
disguise boiled like a hot soup on my range-
and i could smell the oregano steeping the air,
coating my lungs with its opulent fragrance.

my slick mouth gleamed with saliva,
heavy from the aroma and palatable display-
an ironic bravado that i eyed with deference;
you had traveled countless via dolarosa,
and i- yet molded, will never see the days-

decades- my rose, that you called home.