Your Eyes

 

The rosebush,
wounded by thorns,
bled a color
as deep red
as rose petals.

If time and tide
search
my heart,
they will find
footprints
that no wave
can erase—
they are yours.

Your eyes
are stars.
When the heart
grows heavy
with darkness,
they shine brighter
in the sky
of memory.

Your memories
are the wine
in my stone jar—
a wine that grows
stronger
as it ages.
I will keep
filling my cup
with it,
until the day
the jar itself
shatters.