INTERPRETATIVE

To your dream, which is ethereal, I would join,
to the voice, like thunder, that your urgency would give.

Is it by fire or by grief? Is it by fever
or by fear?
It is by something, in my glass, that your thirst did not have.
Your sorrow is not a storm; there is no cyclone, nor
blizzard
and your wet eyes, please, asked me,
to hold you in a kiss and tattoo you, with caresses

At your side, I find myself; I join the silence,
melancholy…
And the mystery clarified, with your eyes open,
your smile looked at me

There were lightning bolts, alarms, cyclones and thunder
and my hurry, tightened for a moment;
with my feet on the floor, I enter the bathroom; I shower,
I shave;
with my batteries charged, I face the fight.
and I take your photo with me, because I leave you sleeping

doctorpoet