Of Muses And Other Ghosts
A Sand Sculpted Shape Of Moments
And to me It felt like a sin,
so good to the touch was her swift kiss
like on my lips, heaven itself was placed, softly
not to disturb the angels sleeping
among the slow moving clouds of snow.
Drawing great power from her
the world itself could have been placed upon my shoulders
and I would not mind a bit.
But her beauty, asked for the sinful touch of skin
and not for the words of a second hand poet,
that's why I'm here, alone, sculpting verses
and the waves of the ocean that sailed our hearts in different directions,
giving them the shapes and names of the blonde woman
that said 'Yes! ', to the proposal of another,
unable to shout to her in the church: 'But I still love you! '
All feels like a bad dream now
that tortured the nights of my childhood.
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