Fireflies are forgotten
When morning comes,
Melodies are reduced
To careless hums.
Loving you—
Is nothing like that.
Sometimes the doors
Don’t open any more.
Windows break
But you still can’t escape.
Loving you—
Is nothing like that.
Dew loves fiercely,
The nights warm air,
Blossoms in winter,
Are lovely and rare.
Dawn escapes
From the mornings’ ashes
And rests over salted stares.
Fingers tangle in woven grasses
Kisses freeze in midnight air—
Loving you is that and more,
