stepping on the stones,
in the garden path,
looking up at all the bright colours,
the new flowers blooming.
turning around,
your sight falls on
emerald green leaves,
up on the trees,
protecting you from sun.
walking in the sunrise,
walking in the piles of warm colour,
are the crunch crunch of leaves,
falling onto you as we speak.
time to prep for
the season ahead.
tip-toe silently,
over a sea of white.
your breath is shown,
in the cold night air.
the moon shining,
wonder about all those colours.
they are sleeping,
under a blanket of snow.
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With my only claim to sanity being your voice and movements,
how can I refuse your intoxicating exotic aura? Make me move,
in ways only I know you could.
how can I refuse your intoxicating exotic aura? Make me move,
in ways only I know you could.
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