Lips soft,
Never touched,
The clean allure,
Of hands,
Never held,
And eyes,
Never dreamed,
No pine, no ache,
No love for this winter blossom,
Weak smile that dances
To the drums of inner aura
Peace, or pieces
In the coma of inexperience
Lips soft,
Kiss the wind,
And hands warm
Cup the sand
Those eyes
Dream of no-one
And gaze to the distance
Sweet bliss of unknowing
Splay that flicker of hope
In the dregs of one last candle
That someday
Someday those lips,
Those soft lips,
Will no longer kiss the wind
And those hands,
Will feel the warmth of another
Hope for those eyes
To experience that feeling
That deep butterflies and sun-toast feeling,
Of sharing a gaze,
A silent conversation
With the eyes of another...
