By TimeMaster | Journal of an Alchemist | 9 Apr 2019
I'll go back to the place where I once
my words undressed the spring,
while your skin
caressed the butterflies.
There, in a night that became eternal
your lips knew mine.
No more tears were necessary,
or sounds getting lost in the afternoon.
My eyes were the perfect shelter
for your dreams, while my hands
were lost in your hair.
Image Source: Pexels
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I'm an admirer of Pablo Neruda's poetry and Serrat's songs. Walt Whitman made me a path of Leaves of Grass, to reach the edge of infinity. Since then I am a citizen of the world.
Here I make my dreams
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