Clouds of love showering down and you rope me in with your wicked smirk.
First monsoon, you and I. Dancing in the street with music so loud. Kicking off my shoes and you ask me if I am Mad. Mad for you, mad in love I say...
Twilight comes in with a purple haze. Drenched, soaked, yet the glow in your gaze. Fire in the fireplace..your guitar you play...for your strings I make up words.
Because when all this is gone...words are all that is left. With silver in my hair and a crack in your spine. Toothless and saggy..the cold and frail hands...It will be will only be words that hold.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Assigment by Rajan sir.
No comments:
Post a Comment