When my morning flower lips for the dew,
I greet it with a stare silent. Seem of years
long, and hours small. Swathed in purity
Distilled, with a single tremble, it brakes
Every spell sinister. I love watching it
Loving itself, taking its time ray bathing.
In the eye-rays of mine. Leaning forward,
It opens its dewed petals thinly. Eternity
Smiling. It touches my lips covetly.
I have to use words, I can’t linger mute.
... she is waiting... okay... here comes nothing...
Here comes nothing
© Copyright: Fern, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103122500342
Свидетельство о публикации №103122500342
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