They say, but know not
Seem less of words are all that is
As the autumn falls heights, and sight all it craves
Or the thirst might it be in the mist of winters,
For, summers are foggy, so the light of thy.
How could it be?
Far I sail and away, braving;
Word then words and silence.
On turning around, when you be,
And gaze of my couldn’t meet you
But the breaths surely does, sure, as they inhale each unknowingly, us again.
But, wasn’t that of a blink, a blink that batted eyelashes?
Under the dense of your smoke,
Slow burns, hard smell and ashes
Over the haze and wine.
I am drawn to you
Drawn in a way of never
As the canvas with paints but no figure
As the brush dips in, but doesn’t paint
Or might be the slightest of your lip-shade, that happened to be there,
There on the canvas of lust all
There on the canvas painted, as i meet you every moment, first time.
In the end, end of our era
I could die for it, i could die for you.
You; my evoke of all ideas
You; my death of all beliefs
I; a surrender
I; a surrender,
Or perhaps, a sultry untoward where you brush me for an apparent believe.