Not even heard in your ears

When your eyes are judged on remorse, I suddenly dislike a visual night in your bedroom sky. dancing delays the sleep of two shady eyes that have made me need. I want to stay there, in your eyes that season of warm light, until I forget that cold exists.

When your hair is tousled in bed, suddenly I like morning, while I hope to be the dew that sneaks into your first breath when you wake up, smiling at dawn. but sometimes I am proud to think that the smile is part of my answered prayer. for a woman who combs her hair, strand after strand has been crowned as the sweetest fragrance in the universe.

When your face is covered with dust, suddenly I like the day where you and your routine make out. a pink girl, who was no doubt beautiful in the sun. That's why I deserve to be ashamed of the afternoon sun, which in fact is faster in tracing the smile on your cheek. it's in the line of that smile that I have fallen very badly.

And indeed I have long liked the afternoon. when the orange sky melts your tired body home. a coffee and the aroma of a cappuccino cigarette blends with my hope to accompany the violet. when the western horizon the sky is very familiarly shining on your body. suddenly I imagined your chest like a blank piece of paper stuck to it, then the ink called reality plainly wrote "I've never been there once." It is only written as a sentence structure, flowing with a name that ends in a sea of ​​poetry that is not even heard in your ears. because if I'm honest, I feel very handsome when I admire you secretly.