Dead flowers.
That the single eccentric embrace
I dream about,
Makes me moil with the
Down beat passion
I feel for the regalia of colours,
I feel for the shapes,
I feel for the gestures
You have around you,
About you.
And in you.
My pupils are shaking without
The humidity of your love.
I put my arm around me
To hinder me back;
Wanting to run,
Never stop.
Knock on her Beachwood door,
Candle in a cradle,
Dead flowers on her floor.
Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 1443 times
Written on 2006-05-04 at 21:20
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by John Ashleigh Latest textsDesignDylan. In between love. Transcend. Fingertips. My favoritesNightlightPhoenix Seulement One Week from Tomorrow. Betrayed |
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