I will write hundreds and maybe thousands of poems for you ,
but I will only give you my very best from the lot!
Everyline of poetry will remind you of my love,
And me about you.
Every little things about you that has taken up my memory.
Your fragrance in the paper I write,
More than the ink!
We are poetic together,
Together ,
we are like the ink kissing paper,
Scandalously beautiful,
And a perfection that makes the world jealous and scared,
We are also sacred,
Flowing peacefully at the feets of a great supreme,
We flow in the same direction,
One as a river,
We are united.
We are bound,
We are unbound,
We are two individuals,
With the same desires,
Tied by the invisible string of fate.
If reincarnations existed,
I believe our souls were bound to each other,
In eternal perfection,
That when we are reborn together,
We find each other,
No matter how far apart we are,
No language,
No distance,
No religion,
No reasons apart!
We would burn and glow together,
Like two pheonixes from the ashes,
We would spread our wings and soar together,
We would have met high above where stars spread their magical luminous blankets...
We would hug and kiss in the mystical silence of the night,
We would be awake until the golden hours,
Then we would collapse in each others arms.
We would tell our stories to our children and grandchildren,
They would ask for it,
And they would be inspired and awakened like us,
They would search for companions,
Theh would look for love.
They would be optimistic,
And simple,
They would be sure that true love does exist,
Because of their parents.
They would have no further questions,
Because we would be the answer ❤️
We are perfection,
We are an anthology,
In all human imperfections,
We flow in the same direction,
We are mystical,
We are sensual,
We are bound,
We are fated and favored to be,
We are a celestial union,
Purified in each others love and loyalty.
And when ever the ink touches the paper,
It wiggles in shyness,
But stays in the kisses of the wet ink,
Over and over again!
Ink spreads over the paper,
Like forest fire,
And envelops it,
Like its life or death,
Its one big art,
Poetry,
Union.
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