The Silence of My Voice

Stale beers, never old, The brazen bitterness, never enough, The warmth of two sets of pearls against freezing cheeks, The slight torture in stepping down a large flight, The dusty sunlight, and the smell of cinnamon tea, The torn spine of that bulk of a book, The crossing of same face every morning, The time, Of lonesomeness, and then again, Warming up to a soul, The tinted nature against the dry coolness, And all you see is, The brightening and paling of patinas, When is it, will you understand, How colourful a death can seem? Until next time. .........., Ak

And then the window illuminated with goldenness, The curtain danced all shades of orange, Sometimes, changing the colour of my sheets, And at other times, the tint of my tresses, Sliding deeper in the quilt, But just enough to treat my eyes, With the love light made with my room,  Its warmth felling through under the window,  Spreading in the room, and me, Which tingles my toes,  And tickles my waist, Warming my hair,  Like the hands of a lover holding your head, Revel in it, soak in it, take it all in, Like a breath of you,  Under the brown autumn sky. The laziness to abandon the cosy crippling you, And the doorbells constantly ringing for milk, But lay there for another while, just, As I will, For how many mornings have you created, When you woke up for yourself, And took the sunrise in for yourself, For how many nights have you survived through, To sleep only to those few moments of dawn, Like a mother, sw...