I can't think anymore
I don't want to spend my words
I love writing your face
In a prose of roses for your heart

Under the heat of the sun
I love drawing my hands
On the silhouette of your face
I presume how your hair floats

I can't keep writing
I need you beside me
So the bed leaves an impression
The weight of expectation dies on me

I can't live without inspiration
I need your words and admiration
Not my images of love
I am left with ashes of lust

Instead of making love to you
I make poetry out of you