etheral

sweet voice, honey from lips,
I glanced the Matterhorn
and then could not find you.
how my hands long for you,
independent of me –
the same as my eyes;
we share the desire
that your voice draws out,
like the harpists fingers
on the taught strings
of my soul.
Darling smile, butterfly on the flower
tip your wings for me:
it has been the whole Universe
and I have not seen your smile.
has it all been a dream?

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Soapbox Artist: collecting art & literature of the worst kind