the penmanship of her soul
is slanted
and focused on yesterday's sunlight as it fell
through dusty glass to land
in warm silence on the burnished wood
and teacup
the aroma of mint tea
mixed with the subtlest tastes of her perfumed
soft skin
the penmanship of her soul
is slanted
flows over the page of her day
like silk on sandpaper
but her smile endures
even as she decays into the sand
which created her
she writes her thought
on the sunsoaked sky
and that ideal
is one of warm loves
i wait for the time to pass
and somthing to be revealed
but time is a twisted path
and shows nothing of its passing
except the turn of day to night
and so as i fall to sleep
i read between the lines
of the smile in her eyes
and reach for her hand...