Sonnet no 9

7 / 24

I woke up one Sunday morning
No bone seemed at his place
I felt the strangest yearning
When suddenly - I saw a face

Dark and curly, lovely lashes
Closed upon his eyes
My mouth a desert pit of ashes
Softly breathing there he lies

His warmth is so inviting
I tuck my head in the bed of his chest
A gentle steady beating
Found my hometown, made my nest

He will awake and tenderly stroke my hair
I got to leave – yet driving in despair

Verantwortlich für die Inhalte: Stefanie Böger ·

Notice: Undefined index: argv in /var/htdocs/ on line 9