Those verses, that I write with the mist, from my breath,
as I breath on the glass, then I'll write my verses,
as I trace my fingers, along the glass, I love you...
at midnight you'll come, from the far horizon lost,
,
with the flowers you picked, in that fragrant summer,
that's when I saw the fire born in you, could see it in your eyes
that inextinguishable fire that's all around you...
as I write on the faded line, the rain came,
not to extinguish but to make it alive,
for without rain there sure wouldn't be life
I without face or eyes, but under your skin I am
am the storm that spills over the river,
reawakening my sighs my senses,
those senses that are tight like guitar strings,
waiting, waiting to ping, like when a guitar breaks its strings,
those senses waiting for that feather light touch,
known so well to young lovers, as they touch uncertainly
then I'll play with the clouds,the winds as I hover above
I kiss your lips, as I take thirsty sips, you grown somewhat
it will be no stranger but you... you my love,
I kiss the sands the dust with pride, I look at you
I'll be returning home to you...that's when the fire is born...
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