Saturday, May 28, 2011


Your smile hasn't changed or faded to your age;
I'd almost forgot the way you sparkle and flame
without regret, remorse or dispair to mirage-
the visage is an instrument worry can claim.

You've always known the depths of my heart;
without your burning questions I become lost.
Developing patience is no doubt and art,
but I struggle to swallow the astringent cost.

Escape is extravagance unimaginable to me,
yet nothing will tarnish the finish in my soul.
I love in the virture to live and let be
yet only my muses can make me feel whole.

No other could ever my hunger appease;
Your beauty a complement to my subtleties.

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