the hair beneath my fingertips
felt like tendrils of morning sun
lulling me into Forgetfulness
where yesteryears are nothing morethan the coffeebrown of my eyes
where I dream of rain falling into 
but how do I not hear thee when
where I dream of rain falling into the heavens and hitting the gods
but how do I not hear thee whenyou are calling from deep inside?
No comments:
Post a Comment