Not Any Of Them Is Like You Poem by Miroslava Odalovic

The mornings leave wet drops of your coming
And drowned in dew each atom’s a spell
The cloudless blue keeps calling you miming
At a distant thunder at a silent shell

The noon is high pierced by yellow eyes
Of the two suns spraying heat and void of air
Wish I could scratch the blue of all the skies
And weave a call of sunshine out of deep despair

The sunset colours all blood in poppy hue
The deep nights of white stars so sublime and pure
But not any of them is beautiful or giving a cure
Not any of them, my love, is anything like you