If my emotions
were in words
if I were to explain,
it’s like reading poems
with you, next to my bed
when you come in the middle
of the night,
Like a silent butterfly.
Your my novel, nourishing
a new line loving like this,
and when you rise, flourishing
and when I shine,
you shine too.
Writing with detailed ambitions
in verses; like love notes
to our destiny and to the reverse
if you write love, and if I write it
let’s write write it together.
Writing only for myself, but
what only a nonfiction can satisfy;
it if is not to love someone so deeply
In life; what else is there….
that’s what is like,
to live even after death,
It’s when two souls survive
share the same thoughts.
To capture humanity
in a prose, life imposed
like life’s pictures frames,
nights we spent talking,
in the window; In London
words are memory’s remembered,
still waiting to be written,
and some stories
still await to be told.
Life With Catnip 