In the witching hour,
I alone,
I stand, I stare
into the dark of my backyard.


Listening to pacific heat,
to the chirping,
meteoric fireflies’ light,
unsteady blinks of twinkle beat.
A squirrel with vivacious jumps
to reach, to claw the massive trunk,
disappering up above in yellow Tulip Poplar tree.
Thousands sounds,
one melody;
a moonshine symphony
that spills in mountain dew,
before the morning uverture.


I hear your voice .
It’s shy, it’s silent,
hesitant to blast the feelings,
hesitant to call me Princess,
lust my body,
call me mistress.
I wait for you ascending.
For your heights
of our creation,
for true expression
of your teenage like obsession.


Or let me go.


I’m caught in Texas of emotions,
questioning my sanity,
if we are real
or just a spark of imagination.


In the witching hour
the world stands still,
yet thousands voices all around
telling story of enchantment,
the eternal romance
of two lovers.
Day and Night.


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Napisal/a: TanjaT


  • 12. 07. 2020 ob 19:36
  • Prebrano 139 krat

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