Breathless Moments
Barely six and the bustle winds
through depths of lost descent
where reality hunts the night
dreaming of incoherent content
here dusk drifts off ever deep
butterfly float on off to sleep
in wings of the dormant pine
almost silently still, she weeps
but all I hear are angelic voices
begging on moonbeams to fly
breathless meaningful moments
singing in every teardrop cried
vous avez pris mon souffle
as I placed my hands upon her heart
a path opened to intimate ardor
and a pleasingly inauspicious start
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2017
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