Wet Curls

Wet curls Begging a wish To touch them. But for the mist, White wool over eyes. We saw The haze went up the gorge, Stroking the pines of Mawkdok, And desperate To hold your hand, I Kept the commandment. What shall I do in heaven now Without your moist locks? Pears blossomed In pure white detachment, But you took their pictures, And I preferred to trap Your wayward ways in my fingers. What shall I do with blossoms If I can't fasten them to your hair? Camellia flowers in flames Burned our eyes in the evening, The western horizon cremating the past Where we could have been.