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Disarmed I follow your solemn voice.

 

Those nights, when darkness

never close your tired eyelids

and your heart keeps watching

all what shadows forbid.

 

Contented, you feel the quiet remains

the whisper from your spirit,

too delicate for your lips to taste

 too much a virtue for your mind to waste.

 

Numb, your body glows, still awaken,

thin veiled by the clouds´ delight

It gives place to the trembling moon

that carries your pale face in its light.

 

Disarmed, I follow your solemn voice

that slowly drowned all reason,

sedating my blood

with a strong presence, but short-lived, jubilee

 pleasing the tranquil wind

for a deep and close invite.

 

And ever, ever as the minutes flew

my light ornament, in tumult,

my destiny,deserted, but long survives

as much as a storm allows

a wind forgotten, and left behind.

 

Down below me, you dwell in the grace of cider scent

like a host, of the most noble deeds

and I fall, I fall in supreme felicity to your breast

that sweeps me in your divine odour

into a breathless,

rapturous splendour.

 

March the 10th 2016

©k.c.