Sometimes, I write poems.
Friday, June 05, 2009
I ran with you, we collected them in a jar.
Together we gathered each glowing, living star.
Your recitations were quenched with a kiss,
And then I told you
I have dreamed of this.
I have lived this moment before, in a dream.
, you whispered.
I too. As though I seem --
We both looked at our lamp then. No shade
could ever have dimmed the fire we had made.
Yet, without a word you let them go. We knew.
Freedom was the thing for me and you.
© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009
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