Mysterious Depths

There are page-empty days
that I do not wish to draw you,
in charcoal or yellow
or write of you,
or kiss you, or make love to you;
or to sing beside you about lost treasure,
or to hear you, or to speak English to you…
these are days when I do not know myself.

I only slip on loose-laced shoes,
throw my cloak over my shoulders,
grab my grandfather’s walking stick,
and wander down into the mysterious depths
of loving you.

tis nothing if not heardShare on email
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About skipavm@gmail.com

I'm just a seeker
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3 Responses to Mysterious Depths

  1. Anonymous says:

    Happiest holidays, my dear and esteemed one.

  2. Arshia says:

    Beautiful

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