Your eyes, they speak,
I’m trembling, so weak,
your hair, seems to dance,
your touch, what a dance,
like a ballroom,
and two, intertwined,
humans who, become more,
more than two, become me,
becomes you.
But I doubt, my stare,
my desire, my care,
will get you to dance,
or say hello,
or even glance my way.
So for now, I’ll write,
about you, and the night,
till the day, you look my way,
and I give you my hand,
and ask you, for this dance.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
Your eyes, they speak,
I’m trembling, so weak,
your hair, seems to dance,
your touch, what a dance,
like a ballroom,
and two, intertwined,
humans who, become more,
more than two, become me,
becomes you.
But I doubt, my stare,
my desire, my care,
will get you to dance,
or say hello,
or even glance my way.
So for now, I’ll write,
about you, and the night,
till the day, you look my way,
and I give you my hand,
and ask you, for this dance.
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