The Mourning of a Long Living Fellow
That voice,whispering in my ear
That image; these eyes, her hair
cry not these tears upon your bosom
for am here to paint the rust with chrome
sad be not; my arms, your home's walls:
my chest be your pillow, my hug for you calls
apart your hands and grant me pardon
if once in time your heart felt alone.
Your touch makes my body tremble
like a worrior on drum-taps ready to rumble
like a sword, drawn to flirt
brings no ease and hurt
your lips, approaching mine;
moist, warm, and divine
squeeze your chest to mine
untill our ribs combine
that mark you bear, is one of my own;
by my lips on your neck once was drawn
your fingertips runs upon my body like;
a hot knife on butter with a slow strike.
Your skin, magic, silk knitted by the sun
proudly, whith clouds of the galexy was done
warm moments passes slow on us both;
like the silence of a witness sworn the oath
the love we made will not draw us apart
but to quench the desire inside the heart.
"That scent, I know from the hour in the rain"
I'm gone to a place with no more pain
my body is gone; in peace it rest
my soul; a victem of haste
if could I ask,for you to stop mourn
my soul is no more warm, it's heavily worn
Copyright © Ali Adhab | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment