In Awe

In days she gently caresses his mind, 
in his dreams she dances alone,
over hills and vales of minutes serene,
these are moments she lyrically owns.
In Summer, winds stream complexions so pure,
whilst elegantly whispering passions reprise,
she appears on the cusp of this silkened embrace
to this man with the tears in his eyes.

In awe she's tied to bounds of illusion,
a gift from the malt blue above,
her touch is prevalent when life needs her the most,
only in name, we're calling it love.

In sleep she shadows a deep sadness denied,
calming, affectionate, delicate and warm,
in life she appears, when he's lost in the moment,
of being at one with his loneliness borne....


© Nick Hawkins, all rights reserved 


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