Following the signs
trees smell of cinnamon.
Sweet.
Brisk.
But faint.
His breath throws
crystals onto my tongue
I have my own taste
of the gods' nectar.
Sweet.
Brisk.
And strong.
But my shadow hides
and I'm lost.
But happier than ever
dancing in Angels' tears
to the sound of their music.
Yet the shadow returns:
to dance with me,
following my steps,
one in one
as if we were whole.
I fall, and my shadow with me.
To feel the skin of the world,
and to enjoy the tears,
the music,
the nectar,
and the cinnamon
from the trees.
Sweet.
Brisk.
Faint.
Yet strong.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 8:31 PM UTC
Following the signs
trees smell of cinnamon.
Sweet.
Brisk.
But faint.
His breath throws
crystals onto my tongue
I have my own taste
of the gods' nectar.
Sweet.
Brisk.
And strong.
But my shadow hides
and I'm lost.
But happier than ever
dancing in Angels' tears
to the sound of their music.
Yet the shadow returns:
to dance with me,
following my steps,
one in one
as if we were whole.
I fall, and my shadow with me.
To feel the skin of the world,
and to enjoy the tears,
the music,
the nectar,
and the cinnamon
from the trees.
Sweet.
Brisk.
Faint.
Yet strong.
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