Desolate Art
The kiss you gave resounded,
Sends shivers down my spine.
The fingers you stroked on me,
Are forevermore in twine.
The dark eyes that entranced me,
Are always gazing into mine.
The whispers that you now speak,
Hasn’t the slightest hint of malign.
But no matter how much I try,
Convincing myself this is real,
And no matter how much you say,
I will always have to appeal.
But soon I awaken,
Unfortunately safe in my bed,
Knowing that I was dreaming,
All my hopes are dead.
You never knew and never will,
The fetish of my heart,
And still my eyes shed tears,
For one who will never heed to my desolate art.
