Your promises are wintry sunrays,
Streaming into my pupils
Through the festival of skyscrapers.
Here on the road,
Cold gray stones are lying still,
To be caressed by your mustard gold,
And I'm holding,
Moving yet clinging to your song,
Like gravity admires every moment
The tangibility of earth,
The way sensibility overflows from
Its liquefied core.
Peaceful easy feeling surrounds me
Whenever you open your lips.
Voice, subtle and slow
Paint my walls with a glow that only
Speaks to snowflakes.
And I collect them, thinking
How they will melt on your hidden skin
That is so pale and bright
At the same time.
Patience it is,
Between us, letting me draw words
One after another,
Letting me hope that
I can make you come back
To a home, that has no ceiling no floor,
The pure silence of my prayers.