in the whites of our eyes,
no language can interpret,
in the skins of lost bodies,
no soul can birth rich flesh,
in two hearts beating twined,
by all what blight moon shows.
i have walked alone as you,
creeping in avenues so alone,
i have made peace in sorrows,
that you share and i sure know,
we both stride with mists of rains,
white washed by what moon shows.
this world, cast for walking ghosts,
those who know but shadow speak,
avenues trod, unspoken indifferences,
spoke fingers that long for heated touch,
bodies crying need for moist engulfments,
beneath shroud, beams, what moon shows.