Hold me in your eyes,
Tell me lost stories,
If ever I say “i”,
Hush me with kisses, not worries.
Tag: Art
She gave in later hours
She gave in later hours,
On a parting lovers lip,
Her kiss like cinnamon,
And tears of mother’s milk.
What have men to do,
Drunk and in her manner?
Where was I to go,
Beside her childish candor?
no, my child
I say my child “Where is this life,
What have you brimming in your eyes?”
Quiet, quiet my little flame
Liberty does not feed fires.
who you are
The world begs for your smile,
For it awaits your audience.
For it awaits your audience.
You are the mother of eyes,
And the world is your child.
And the world is your child.
And so is the love of the world,
In its beseech of a sibling
In its beseech of a sibling
her memory
There is a warmth in memory
Of which I will not spare thee
Be it then or what follows
The former and its fathers
I think I wouldn’t let her go
How oft we find that witch to hold…
Evening Tea
I have tasted your sent
In a warm glass
Of lemon tea.
Your sweetness held me
In a passing warmth,
Likened to the morning sun.
And so… I watched,
Sculpted by the wind,
My village withering
In the words of our past.
Young Language
Our love is punctuated
When language becomes a word
For our bickering spirits.
We are two birds
Beating our wings
Against the others’ wind.
When you would say my name
With me, I had known
Your heart, my pen… a poem.
When you would say my name,
I had it all…a home.
❤
Waiting
What of your wine have I taken,
If never I your stem have shaken?
I’d wait till you’d for reasons sway,
Be it even … angrily,
And drops traced your petaled lip,
Leaving little to let one sip.
She would fly
Holds her petals firm,
And for moments they flutter,
Not flight, no, they fall.
ahorsealone 
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