The Nightingale was born one August evening
And on the 11th day of every month it rose...
It's Been A While Since I Have Seen You
I Can't Remember Your Face...
Candles lit, spreading their perfumes
through out the room...
Butterfly Kisses
Tied Up Hair...
Memory's flash by like slides;
as the knife glides...
No uttered words the poet speaks,
No skies of golden hue...