I know not of the sun
Getting up from the bed of the eastern sea
But I have seen you raise eyelids to look up.
May not have touched with hands
Dew-drops dancing on a rose petal
I have but felt your tender lips.
They talk of the warmth of dove's wings
Who never have snuggled and
Slept in your arms.
With closed eyes when I soak-in,
The scent of your breath
I wish, I never breathe out again.
The eighth note, I discovered
Was the music in your laugh
More than the whisper of the stream.
The tired sun melts into the outstretched
Palm of the horizon and
I have found rest in your heart.
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