The Sky (Looking Up Towards The Sky)

My answer is never

For its only lost in my chambers

It’s like a cornucopia

Overflowing with passionate wonder

A bond of realism

With a surrealist stroke

A graceful touch

Performed like a dove’s dance

Beautiful beginning

At the birth place

A symphony of warmth

Surrounding gold candlelight

Deep brown eyes

Attacked by blackness of night

True difference unheard

While ignited flames burned

Rules and borders

When I only patrol my own mind

Cotton softness

Slender willow scented like a rose

Breath above her neck

Below the listening sense

A life a little ordinary

Conquered by the extraordinary

Rain poured

Down souls of bodies

I whisper to her skin

   With my fingertips

Touched once

   And forever remembered

© 1998 David Greg Harth

98.01.17.00:00:00@NJNYC

98.01.21.00:00:00@NJNYC