11 November 2005

For the leaves in sheaves of sun-struck green,
the dappled summer seen
from a living room window.
And where have we been?
—nowhere but here, but now.
Lie down and rest your head,
listen against my quickening chest
for the midnight romantic who has dreamt and felt
and envied us—who has knelt
before the night sky and wept
for us—who has seen spelt
out in the stars what’s left for us,
would dare to scream abandon for a kiss,
for joyous insanity and sorrowful bliss
—yet only this?
Must it be all there is?

// posted by Wang @ 2:59 AM 0 comments