There art a dream whom in wake I meet
Eyes they reach in epitomic flash,
savoring each feature in still touch of thought,
while suspending the self into silence
as though our souls
dance together in confined passion,
leaving a strange fragrance in the other's mind,
never quite being forgotten, rather
distilled and fermented in quiet moments of the day,
which wine may not oppress
into the realm of the unremembered dreams
and morning's frost will always remind,
you are not mine
Selite:
- Kirjaudu tai rekisteröidy kommentoidaksesi
