domingo, 12 de junho de 2011

A thought.

Every night I empty my heart,
but by morning is full again.
Slowly, droplets of you seep in
through the night's soft caress.

At dawn, I overflow with thoughts of us;
an aching pleasure
that gives me no respite.

Love cannot be containned.
The neat packaging of desire splits assunder
spilling Carmesim through my days,
long languishing days,

now bruised tender with moan.
Spent searching for a fingerprint,
a scent, a breath you left behind.

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