His kisses are my dreams.
Sometimes a reason,
but usually aimless.
When my dreams wander elsewhere,
it feels like treason.
I want to figure it out,
but my heart casts a glare.
My mind doesn't know what this is all about.
I don't know how to tell it,
or how to get away.
His kisses are my dreams,
and world of fantasy
layed out in front of me.
His words are the scratch of my pen,
as I write poetry.
His breathes are violent winds,
ripping away at my soul.
His touch is a raindrop,
tickling my spine.
His tears are a flood,
full of tragic happenings.
And his lips are my velvet curtains.
Still he is always there for me,
always and forever will be.
His kisses are my dreams.
When the world was thrown away,
and time came to a pause.
His kisses are my dreams.
And when the raindrops cease to fall,
and the wind becomes a breeze.
And when my pen falls from my hand,
and the flood finally retreats.
My dreams are his kisses,
and his lips my velvet curtains.
Then my pain becomes to much,
and I fall and weep.
then the rain begins again,
and the breeze suddenly strong.
My pen begins to flow again,
and the flood rushes in.
His kisses are my dreams
and my dreams his kisses.
His lips are my velvet curtains
that block away my worries.
