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Untitled
Secretly, silently, ghostly moving from sight we shudder from fright.
A light glistens before our feet, but vanishes to our relief.
We both know where we should be, but should be would be torture to us.
Two hearts shivering in the moonlight, hiding from the twilight of a lamp that hunts us down.
We are so strange a love to them, so forbidden a cursed sin.
Hush your breath with my lips, gently press to seal more than just the kiss.
They cannot find us like this, nakedly unveiled is our truth.
What be so strange I wonder as I gaze at what I can amidst the darkness.
The flesh a superficial thing, I see not the lumps the curves and lacking of a muscle.
I see a delicate heart, a soul of light colored oils which paint for me a picture of perfection.
What is love if not strange? Fore love is anything but usual and defined or understood.
Love is simply not a choice, but is so sweetly forced without force upon a unexpected soul.
What is so strange our love or any love? Define for me the words, fore I am blinded perhaps by the strangeness of the love itself and I see not the wrong in loving the one whom loves myself.
We are not strange, the love may be; but it's the strangeness that I love.
By: Mori Hana
May.23rd.2006
 Mori Hana · Wed May 24, 2006 @ 03:05am · 0 Comments |
