tirsdag den 15. november 2011

The promise of tepid nights

It's mid-November and the nights are long and laden with a tar-esque abyss of blackness that seeps through the ether with a sharp and decadent vengeance.  I long for the warm, sweeping days of summer and for the winter's swift passing as I prance around restlessly indoors where it's warm and calm. I'm reminiscent, nostalgic for the memories of the laughs and smiles of times gone by as I glide through my psyche on my chariot of thoughts.

Back to the primordial.

The Promise of tepid nights on the savannah.

Oh how I linger and long,

For the promise of a tepid night
The smile on your face upon your delight
For the clasp of your hand in mine
For the witticism of a split moment stolen from time

For the flickers of your blue eyes
The rose blush on your cheeks as you sigh
For the bond of your happiness to mine
For the silence of an isolated insurgence, riddled with rhyme.

I linger and long 


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