promise
touch me like a romantic would do
touch me golden
i bring you illusions and let them
sleep with you
after i am gone
i am the hour that makes me your world
the color of my eyes in your hair
we will breathe the red flavored light
my hands, like green leaves, in the dark.
touch this tormented soul
make it yours
let it shine out the truth of its weakness
and strength, make it grow
and remind me never to cry before
i become the world on my own
and the hour to go
This poem was written by Eliza Simon on Jul 04, 2007.
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