I stroke the drum
Stroke so softly
As though it was your lips
Where my fingers were walking
My hopes there are roaming
Soaking so slowly
To keep there the hoping
Bemoaning the undercover of love
I hear out for the whispers
Quiet so slow as though
The door may one day open
Upon your calling voice
My thoughts there choking
Revoking so lonely
To hang on to my stone
Heart hopeless lover of love
I hunger for the aroma of flowers
Fragrant flowers
As sure as the perfume spray
Of all our yesterdays
My arms sway,
After the way your intent
Descended upon my vine
Signed itself lonesome of love
In the hour to press
I test the taste of love
Impress the cotton on my teeth
Seethe to tear this grip of grief
My aura disturbs with disbelief
The hurt that stole the sweetness
Thereof, the neatness inside
Your secret sheaths of love