The Fibers of My Heart Are Strung Tight As a Dream Catcher

The fibers of my heart are strung tight as a dream catcher my soul pressed tight between crimson lips a black haired Buddhist girl whose very eyes spell out the Dharma seized control of my consciousness her slender fingers trace a heart-shaped impression on my impressionable mind and the icy palm of uncertainty brushes back and forth across my chest when she opens her mouth to speak the gates of heaven open up and I hear a chorus of bells and angels to touch her warm, white skin would send chills down my arms and rekindle the smoldering flame in my heart the dimples on her cheeks are rabbits bounding through a snowy field on a clear day the sky in not blue, but empty when there are clouds the sun smiles his blessing on no one and the birds sing for others, and the violets are painted not for me could not speak to an angel wrote her this poem