Loving London,

I found my heart in the heart of the rose today,

it had fell to the floor of the patio.

I pealed its petals in search for its chore, to discover that it was made up with 5 thin sepals, the guardians of the seeds.

The chore of the rose rests in my shaky hand,

I observe my heart with wonder:

its naked rawness, its rhythmic vessels looking for a balance,

its beat, trembling with rough, painful and cheerful raw life.

The search for a certain kind of unaffected nakedness.

The feel of "being" , is the one of “becoming”,

stripped humanity.