Dreams of you
are rays that slip
through my fingers
while I failingly try to
keep the sun off my face.

You are the cold air
On the mornings I run,
That gently brushes my skin.
The air on moments
I’d die to breathe.

Attempts to say “I love you”
Recounts to being infant again,
in struggle to express,
To find the perfect word
As perfect as the feeling.

If life is a book,
You are the words
that grace the back cover,
I read you thinking,
“You’re everything
And all I need to know”.

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Bid farewell to unwritten letters
As they turn into little waves
Let them kiss your toes
as you bravely go against the waters.
Set free a memory, for it
doesn’t make you less of a beauty.

Life is just much more,
The heart is crafted to beat
Until man’s last minute
But it craves in secret
Jumping and stopping in between.

When even the Moon takes phases
To escape the cruel, black night,
The flowers turn towards
where it catches the Sun,
What makes you think
you deserve to be saturnine?

What keeps you still, holding on
When the shadow, in its darkness
Gets enticed to follow along
Every step when man dances,
When the seed, of sheer love
breaks itself out of desire for life?