A faithless friend is life, as all I find
Are martyred mysteries: My histories.
Or is it just depression I’m assigned?
I cope with spritzes of cologne.
Or for coffee drinkers…
A faithless friend is life, as all I find
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Are martyred mysteries: My histories.
Or is it just depression I’m assigned?
I cope with sips of espresso.
His charm came with the lightest touch of Cypress,
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A perfume of the islands- she would realize.
He carried in a breeze – made love impress.
But fair and fickle, he would symbolize.
A bottle in the sea, I turn and toss;
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Been waiting for a wish to wash ashore.
Will life’s rapacious tides return love’s loss?
Or don’t I recognize her anymore?
Was all alone until I breathed you in
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And on my branches laid your gentle sun.
Unchaperoned but now awoke within;
A tree of orange whose fruit will surely come.
“It’s here that I pretend to write,
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Your perfume is the muse…”
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