The Fibers of My Heart Are Strung Tight As a Dream Catcher
The fibers of my heart are strung tight as a dream catcher
my soul pressed tight between crimson lips
a black haired Buddhist girl
whose very eyes spell out the Dharma
seized control of my consciousness
her slender fingers trace
a heart-shaped impression
on my impressionable mind
and the icy palm of uncertainty
brushes back and forth across my chest
when she opens her mouth to speak
the gates of heaven open up
and I hear a chorus of bells and angels
to touch her warm, white skin
would send chills down my arms
and rekindle the smoldering flame in my heart
the dimples on her cheeks are
rabbits bounding through a snowy field
on a clear day the sky in not blue, but empty
when there are clouds the sun smiles his blessing on no one
and the birds sing for others,
and the violets are painted not for me
could not speak to an angel
wrote her this poem
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