As you and I
Sit so cosy
In frowning winter gloom.
Touching lips.
And drinking tea.
Who could say that paradise,
A posy in the room,
A bird with vulgar plume,
Would be a better memory.

As you and I
In balconies sit.
With darkness,
When only eyes are lit.
What symphony could match
The ethereal notes of our love.
To catch
That opera of the soul.
Could you accept that paradise,
The queen without a crown.
Will replace
All that it stole.
Before it brought
Our curtain down.
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Jan 21, 2013