Candles of Your Fingers
I miss the candles of your fingers holding mine ,
as we waltz on floors that bathe our dusk.
Seasons glimmer of moist orange,
hands tracing night passages with mirrors
inside our eyes capturing reveries and hymns
of epics written in ashes, on orchids,
and among seashells.
Yet, I have to part for now
through the sweet ghost of winters lost...
here are your hands ; I give them back to you
with mine for a while...
God, how I still miss the candles of your dusk
Posted 6/6/2016
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2016
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