One Night Under Los Angeles' Sky
I love the rain of your lips as they are overflowing my young manhood
As fishy fingers beholding the highest and the lowest
Root of the spring growing confused and pleasant.
The way your eyes are looking at me like some kind
Of willows shading the song of given with the full of slowness penetrating
Mine while that moon comes over my face therefrom. I take it as you
Have showed me how to hold the heaven blue that makes
Rain-floods shadow in-between my eyes and yours.
Ah, butterflies! They have become ones. A hundred of them
Come furiously as they are looking at the mountain that moves and cries
From the ground next to the unrest landscape, yet you laugh.
You and are tightened in flames. O, Madness no longer is a grain
When you turn on the edge of the world I am encircled from the Greek legend;
You obtain the grace with that moment of victory.
And both of us wounding, and you are still struggling on the road
From which it leaves me the most explosive mountainous streams.
And as if we are two grown kids, treasures of passion
Or for a night that would pass, we start laughing and laughing and laughing
Under the sky of Los Angeles until sleep would catch us freely and so damned exhausted.
Copyright © George Zamalea | Year Posted 2012
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