I'd like to dream in vermillion and fuschia Paint rhythms in my mind, grow warmer to the waves But these hands, they can tear the most fragile creations Even though it may not seem so. I'd like to ruminate over the tendrils of time Bit by bit, all of it's intricate meshes But this soul, it takes pride in blissful ignorance Even when the heart says no. Sometimes I dream with my eyelids Sometimes, I don't have the right track Except for occasional bursts of vermillion and fuschia Always I dream in black. 

Her voice is like crackers on a quiet night Every atom in my body shudders as she laughs. I lie by her shapely mouth outlined against the moon and I know that she's the noor of my eyes, the woman of my soul. I feel like she will save that soul which doesn't beg to be saved, and she will heal those eyes which don't need healing, after all. And yet when she will trace the contours on my face with her slender fingers, even the moon will watch, by this very window. Her mouth is a casket every word, a Jewel. And as she speaks her astonishing, crackling language the words wrap themselves around my ears, my neck, binding my hands together. It's a bond I don't want to break This is a night for my soul. And with every passing moment I wish for her to keep speaking, I wish for her to keep breathing. It is me who hasn't let go of a single breath, Hoping for her to love me again Even if she does not see me.