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paper and pen.

The dew of life showers me with your memory
I suffer, wail, stare at April’s photography;
the question that led us to nine months of fancy:
“love, would you dance with me?
Be it ballet, waltz, or a ballad's dream
I am here, to take thy apple and thy sin.
won’t you dance with me?"
now, I live under January's ninth night
looking for another similar light,
or perhaps a similar soul, heart, and mind,
with only  paper and pen in hand.
©2008-2009 ~W0E
:iconw0e:

Author's Comments

many of you know what this is about, but you know what? am over it.

free!!!!

yay!

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March 11, 2008
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