zebrasindenver

Crazy broken flower,

Dry hearted dog,

and an eternity of love songs that we will write.

As i sit here remembering the times i will live, and forgetting the mistakes i shall make,

Thinking of those i shall share these times with, and oh how i will never remember, till now.

Till it is too late,

Till yesterday,

And forever before.

I write only of love and passion these days,

what else is there?

There is friendship you say, but then again,

how long till this becomes passion,

and then hate, or worse,

love.

Your eyes, and the corners of your lips,

my hands touch your soft skin,

and my hard exterior melts,

the breeze of summer,

and you leave a winter storm in my heart.

How perfectly the world passes in the silence of your eyes.

German is utilitarian whilst French is beautiful,

our english is a bore, and spanish is too full of coincidences,

your eyes and your smile,

spoke two words in none of the above

and my heart died in a thousand ways,

ich sterbe,

je meurs,

me muero,

 i die.

The stillness in your arms breaks the beating of our hearts,

and for a moment we are at peace,

for just a moment,

and this moment will be long enough for a lifetime.

The light of your love, was too bright for the blind fool,

the beat of your heart for him so loud he could not hear even with his ear pressed against your breast,

he kept walking, silently, until he reached the grave,

then he turned and finally saw,

what you were,

what he had not seen,

all that could have been,

what he had missed,

the noise of a life with you took him away,

and blew him into the grave,

into a tomb of regret,

to be once again,

silent and blinded.

by death.