The Twilight, a Mystery
The breeze from the last night's coming
Through the window, advancing in fire
Like a kiss-watery mouth raising questions of who are you?
Over the Ocean, the rippled desires rowing
In delicious circles.
I stand up, and I begin to shake
That even the waves of this Ocean are backing off
In a foaming haze. Am I ready? Like a waterfall
That streaming from my soul the distance
Of this depth, drive force?
Copyright © George Zamalea | Year Posted 2012
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