You hope for rain, at least for cloud,
to free for a day your unliving heart,
to see my face in the light of the day,
to see if my wrinkles will still let you stay.
You hope for an eclipse to have lunch with me,
in stead of waking me up recklessly for midnight tea.
You hope for time machine to bring me back in your century,
to make me see they are truth, the stories you telling me,
to make me see for your time you were really adventurous.
You hoped for immortality,
long ago, when your soul was young.
Now you’d gladly given up eternal youth to the gravity,
just not to feel thirst every time you kiss my pulsating hand.
author: ©Sabina Braycheva
photo: True Blood
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