Poetry

Your eyes—how they glide
And guide my glued gaze, 
Every time they graze.
Feeding by your face, 
But hiding by the

Clouds of your brown hair.
Which creep by. And they 
Feel my enticed eyes 
Crash against their hold, 
Like a hurricane— 

Our gaze, intertwined, 
Like the firm palm trees 
That twist in the rain. 
And palms of our hands
That posses no pain.

Our gaze, sensual, 
It is the psalms from
Solomon's soft songs, 
And is no longer 
Calm, like the land's sands.

Alas, still, we are 
Now a seat apart.
All of this time has 
Been wasted by my 
Blind imaginings.

The sounds around me
Reappear slowly.
And I am back in 
A crazy café
Sipping my coffee.

Back—facing the world, 
Eyes—fallen on yours.