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2008-06-12 | |
The poem of my mind is mind itself
And no one should sustain that's only dust,
Because the finest book stays on a shelf
And represents the voices of my lust.
Emotion brings together two or three
Ecstatic words by writing them on stone.
I want to swim with blood in veins of spree -
Tonight, my love, denude me bone by bone.
Behold the sense of sun in sour ash
Day after day, and maybe months, to stare;
At some point, there, your very tears may bash
The fire flies we used to kindly share
As our rings of light that brought one love
In stepless stairs from deep to way above.
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