Dear dear one. That august farewell made me think about you again, between hasty green meadows and wild stubborn red roses.
They cry for your love.
For your touch.
For your grace.
I miss your touch.
I miss your taste.
I miss your smell.
Your smell of old novels.
I could read every chapter of yours. Oh how abundant of your sadness wept. When Jesus carried his noble men in his arms. I would divide waters and bring blood to land if not for our love. your love. my love. Hath i cry !
Stubborn through my veins!
Bring me love!
Bring me an angel without wings!
So that she may not fly away from me.
I read in an old novel of mine. When Christopher cut Jaden's arm for the love of his maiden. i would cut my own for yours.
Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours.
Clink to the cup of joy.
Oh blessed daughter of Mary
Bless me with your love.
I smell old novels
But your smell is lovely enough.
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 7:48 AM UTC
Dear dear one. That august farewell made me think about you again, between hasty green meadows and wild stubborn red roses.
They cry for your love.
For your touch.
For your grace.
I miss your touch.
I miss your taste.
I miss your smell.
Your smell of old novels.
I could read every chapter of yours. Oh how abundant of your sadness wept. When Jesus carried his noble men in his arms. I would divide waters and bring blood to land if not for our love. your love. my love. Hath i cry !
Stubborn through my veins!
Bring me love!
Bring me an angel without wings!
So that she may not fly away from me.
I read in an old novel of mine. When Christopher cut Jaden's arm for the love of his maiden. i would cut my own for yours.
Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours.
Clink to the cup of joy.
Oh blessed daughter of Mary
Bless me with your love.
I smell old novels
But your smell is lovely enough.
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