To walk the cobblestoned streets is to be without your grace
and to breathe the color of air that kisses your sadness
is a fated rose meant to be held.
I like you to be still, as the night that brings the solitude of katydids
a rasping song as to not forget the calm of your voice that was.
Let me be within your steps so we can never part
in shadowing the course that brings you closer to the softened murmur of my lips.