Nights are the Time.

Nights are the time of vigorous oaths
the happening of unexpected decree
of fate, a vision of an eternal euphoria
in dreams and images petrifying my mind
weakened my heart, enfeebled my defence
To the most evident feelings of love.

If I could print that colour of your eyes
which followed me through the night
the featherlike touch on my cheek
the graceful stroke on my hands
running through my body like time of dry sand
I would have been a painter of miracles.

Of every miracle, the smallest one I know
I flower more and more,
the weakened heart and all defence excuse
my understanding, my wits of earthly grow
a short moment perhaps of insanity
when I flower in beauty
and all because of you.

Shuddering, I want to stay alone
hiding in that perfect ceremony
facing my heart that speaks in elegance.
She knows how to elicit that gentleness
and about my love, my small miracles mention,
That Beautiful things don’t need any attention.

Nights are the time of silk and tears.

Jan. 2017 ©k.c.