Courtyard
What honor it is to walk into your courtyard. Your eternal flame warms the wind of this cold night. My head on your lap, hair braided to the spine.
You tell me stories of an ancient time, when men was made of clay. Seeds germinated the field of apathy for gold. Your lullabies of life flow as waves of river.
The wind comes to carry me off to the night from the grace of your guiding hands. I float somewhere in a dream, while your gaze reaches for my soul.
This thread, runs beyond the spatial depth of my eyes, yet I know we are love.
⬤
