The rooftop maroons
to a magnanimous rain
a nostalgia rises
with the petrichor
I’m back in the floret
of our amaranthine love
so beautifully arranged
against each other
no spaces in-between
adorning each other
with magnetized hands
flourishing
to the sound of the rain
your skin
a perfumed soul
your soul
upon my skin, worn
your body
a pilgrimage
from which I’ve never returned