What's in your mind, my dove, my coney;
Do thoughts grow like feathers, the dead end of life;
Is it making of love or counting of money
Or raid on the jewels, the plans of a thief?
Open your eyes, my dearest dallier;
Let hunt with your hands for escaping me;
Go through the motions of exploring the familiar;
Stand on the brink of the warm white day
Rise with the wind, my great big serpent;
Silence the birds and darken the air;
Change me with terror, alive In a moment;
Strike for the heart and have me there
Do thoughts grow like feathers, the dead end of life;
Is it making of love or counting of money
Or raid on the jewels, the plans of a thief?
Open your eyes, my dearest dallier;
Let hunt with your hands for escaping me;
Go through the motions of exploring the familiar;
Stand on the brink of the warm white day
Rise with the wind, my great big serpent;
Silence the birds and darken the air;
Change me with terror, alive In a moment;
Strike for the heart and have me there
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!