# A Love In The Spring


With the first rain of the spring,
Once love did shower down on my being,
I saved all the love inside a rosie peony,
After a while I knew it was all vain,
When, in a strong blow of wind the peony withered,
With each further step you disappeared;
Love and hate both turns into mist,
And the memories hides in the lonely shadow of the crescent,
When we look at the moon in night they haunt;
Those hearts who love more than too much,
Love finds every way to make them suffer,
Though they only wish to be together
with their beloved in this lifetime in the world.

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and you rained, didn't you?
You were too much,
for my bosom to embrace
you whole, drop by drop,
I was too little to be qualified

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Me? Peony
The mountains agreed,
The stars nodded,
The flowers chorused, she will bloom.

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With these whispered moans
blaring your name right into
your soul where my chaos
mingles into your poise
with the smell of our body
mists enveloping the aura,
our skin shivers in the heat of
our passionate confusion
among borders of skin and
edges of our naked souls,
we watched the sunrise
laying on the floor of the
home we created, together.

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The cacophony of your feelings
specially the most unspoken ones,
the rhythm of water dripping
from your eyes, I hear them
from a distance of a light year;

I feel it's my tears silently wishing
for my palms to wipe your ones,
and again hold you so close like
we've never been parted before:
I am you,
you are me.

-

It's so painful, my love,
not being able to love
you, even for a moment.
It is actually a torment.

-

.......

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Your desires and emotions
in the mind and the heart
gliding through nerves or
the veins, I'm not certain of;

I just feel, you're the clouds
to my sky, or the dust to
the stars which I behold
in our moments of kissing.

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The reminiscent cigarettes in
those forgotten yellow cases,
of your broken, thirsty soul,
abandoned in that pocket
of your shirt which have
been hidden safely under
t h e V O W S.....

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I'd stretch the fabric of my soul
upon the table of the vast time,
waiting for all the strings, threads
or needles of yours, may it hurt
me, but it'd design your touch
and mind, in the crumpled
skin of my soul;

Is this how you wanted to
be so hard to forget?

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