Monterosa

A frame enclosed my kissed history.

Monterosa, the word for rose mountain.

Blush of the mountain in near distance.

I was brought here young for safe privacy.

Safety meant dark solid doors protecting night.

I longed for polished windows to be open.

She preferred windows sealed to shut out threats.

How quiet the color of the atmosphere.

A quiet atmosphere blooming forsythia.

Untouched skin perspires young perfume.

Youth translates itself to a perfume.

Sage and creosote reciprocate with rain.

Rain, often a wish, blemishes terrain.

I move my lips to the melody of silence.

My sense of hearing quiet hums me to sleep.

A frame enclosing my kissed history.