When The Fire Is Born

   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...

                                                                                                    29 April at 20:39 ·