Tuesday, July 10, 2012

sonnet one hundred seventy eight

and i caught myself
trapped in a scare, a doubt
that i would ever be able
to write without a muse,

or without the surprise
of randomness - this is one
such an exercise, when i pray
my passion would be enough

to make words fly without
wing or wind, where the fire
is sustained by gazes and

the need elevated by touch,
lifting your veil to finally
reveal all the beauty you are made of.

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