I may not know your name yet,
but I dream of warm, delicate sunset
where I sense you in the sweetness
of summer watermelons
you are too far, distant to fetch
like stars, my hands unable to catch.
I may not know the color of your eyes,
but I would recognize your kindness,
a tender gesture of a stranger passing by
when tired day spits me out
and my heavy, wrinkled sigh is caught
in a gentle grip and contagious smile.
I may not know of your past
but I would hear your silent prayer
where you long for fragile moments
those diamond years crushed to dust,
for missed glittering winter dawns,
erased touch, forgotten so fast.
I may not know your language yet,
but you and only you would understand
the story I’m about to tell:
a story of a girl who’s eagerness ignites
leaves the trail of light behind.
Feathered step, rose petals that excite
like butterfly dance in the stormy wind
tempestuous emotion, shown for a second
a scent, a hint, exhilarating
sting to any sleepy heart
awakening love buried deep,
mending hope that’s teared apart.
Her soul is moon, faint and dim
as seen through tree branches,
but soft and inviting, staunchest
in any life mystery.
Her hair like a wavy tapestry
of cascading Irish basalt
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