by: Nessy
At night, how many times have I heard you calling my name?
How many times have I seen your face on my bed,
lured me deludes me.
Painted into dots sculptured with desire,
No better hands can mold my illusion of you.
As my conscience plays on your images
They dances like: charcoal on fire,
falling leaves of autumn,
waves fighting along the rocks,
sunflower on spring,
cherry blossoms in winter.
I can see you then,
Floating on my mind
like fresh flowers below the sun.
~2004~
No comments:
Post a Comment