At times,
I would like to think that my words are too delicate for another person's ear
that the air that I breathe would somehow be my invisible filter
a generator, for less of harsher dwellings
for comfort that soothes even the wildest beast.
At times,
I would rather dive in a sea emptied of its blue clear water
to feel the shrapnel of shattered glass broken from love letters of sailors
feeling the pain of being tied up in chains screaming for a sweet release
until that moment, that bottle touches the shore into the hands of my beloved.
At other times,
coffee would be an appreciable medium of companion
tea, on the other hand, makes me feel like I'm English
added by the clink-clanks of silver cutleries
being in a Starbucks' joint, writing this piece whispering sweet nothings is heaven to me.
No comments:
Post a Comment