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Confessions of the heart broken...

Is it time yet?

No. Wait.

Wait, for I have 

Still to hold your hand.

 

To feel the warmth,

To connect to

My soul again.

My soul seethes

With desire.

 

A desire, so

Strong.  To

Hold you close.

To smell the

Fragrance of your

Hair.


 To touch the skin

Of your face.

Your face, I cant

Get enough of it.

Those eyes burn my

Already parched desire.


 

A desire, so

Strong. To kiss you.

To quench my parched

Soul.

 

Wait. There is time yet!

Isn’t there? To sit

Close to you. To sit and stare

To hear you. To hold your

Hand in mine. Words bundle up

Inside of me. I can’t say.



Can you hear my heart beat?

My heart beats just for you.

Don’t go? There is time yet?

No? please?

 

Go then. Go only to

Come back to me. 

And there will be time, yet again.


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(Image only for representation purpose. Copyright lies with the artist. Not Waving but Drowning Fine Art Print - Trudi Doyle)



He walked, bare feet, on a mass of crushed sea-shells Coarse sand clung onto him, he watched her Afar; sitting motionless on a wind-beaten rock As if waiting for knell
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