Threading through words like silver lace
And yet I sense my vision fails
I met a figure on foreign trails
Who sought for me a safer place
Where I sit at my loom, spinning my tales
He left me here for brighter gales
Left alone recounting his grace
And yet I sense my vision fails
Honeyed skin for which my heart ails
Sea foam smile with sarcastic trace
I sit at my loom, spinning my tales
Cold breath, soft as a nightingale's
Distanced by mere first-person space
And yet I sense my vision fails
Changes expose that which time veils
And as hard as I try to conjure your face
Sitting at my loom, spinning my tales
I only fear my vision fails
1 comments:
I wish I knew how to quit you.
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