Insomnia
You doesn't know what it's like
to dream of her godly shape
an impetuous fiery desire
like a barb nail to my forehead..
And her smell?
when the world becomes spring
dead leaves recover from snow
there is her an eternal smelling rose...
You doesn't know what it's like
to dream of her lovely dark skin
as I squirm alone in my lonely bed
with insomnia and silver shaped spikes..
My soul a concert with arms outstretched
to a light breeze with green groves
I wish to bite her lip
and to touch her warm dark shoulders..
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