Spring Bud
My
breath
shivers under
a rug of loneliness,
a sleepy heart huddles
against such memories
of togetherness and not of
goodbyes, hating to disperse
the fiery rhymes of your lips,
as well as the warmth of its
sweat...tastes like red wine,
then it beats...and beats
gently, as it envisions
you, in an early
misty
s
p
r
i
n
g
Copyright © Ernesto P. Santiago | Year Posted 2007
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