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..