PERFECT STRANGERS




She flee by ticks
To a land I felt
But my heart and mind
Dying in guessing

The sins of my eyes
Deepened in her heart
Encircling on her lips
Astray she went

In his arms was peace
The perfect tyke tycoon
Innocently he embraced my love
On the oaken rest

The a.m. buzz
Was all her voice
Filling my heart
With daydream to hell

In comfort she twisted
Our aims as games
Our fate as threat
For her desirous thrill

My instinct for her
Blossomed in forever ways
So lovely to hold unto
By men in same spell

At the eleventh hour
My heart unveiled
By rays of truth
A memory she became





Poetry by Owen
Read 519 times
Written on 2009-02-17 at 18:57

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