CineArteMusica

A true love of mine.

Please see for me if her hair hangs long, if it rolls and flows all down her breast. Please see for me if her hair hangs long, that's the way I remember her best.
I'm a-wonderin' if she remembers me at all. Many times I've often prayed in the darkness of my night, in the brightness of my day.
So if you're travelin' in the north country fair, where the winds hit heavy on the borderline, remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

All is all, and all is you.


The night. The window. The bed, no wind. No air. Your hand. Your arm. My skin. The lightbulb. The pillow. The colours, the figures. Your eyes shut. my eyes open. Your heavy breathin' my lazy ways of going. The ceiling. Your feet. The touch of the cold walls. The memories of dreams. You're sleepin', I'm awake. You're waking, you're there. The sighs, the kisses. The sweetness of what's missing. The holyness of us. The free spirits around. The shaky fingers floating away. The sheets, the night, the end. All is all, and all is you. All is all, and all is you.
Thought nº 1207835 by at

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