In your touch
I make transactions
with beauty,
selling each moment
for a veil of your light,
feeling the white
of your perception
shine from my soul.
~
My poetry,
its endless brushstrokes
paint the features
of my face;
look at it,
it has no eyes
but only a silence
with which to gaze
upon the world.
~
When I write
I imagine my fingers
touching her face
the way the moth hovers
around the candle-light,
I feel my hands
dipped in her skin
like oars rowing
in a starlit sea of poetry.
~
Looking at her
the poem tries
with burnings fingers
to describe her beauty,
but then it falls down,
speechless.
~
She is all the lights the city needs.
~
My heart
I feel it connected to yours
by a hidden string,
like night to the day,
like the sky to the earth
and to the rolling sea of stars.
Rooted in Love 