The windows of his soul are pure and gentle.
He stares at me with respect and care.
His thought is as vast as the unexplored galaxy.
The angelic face that stares at me on stormy times.
His jaw line is evident on his side angle.
I can trace his pointed nose on my finger.
His voice is calming like the first morning breeze
that touches my face when I open my window.
He is a man of wonderful dreams.
He is the man of my dream.
YOU ARE READING
M.E.
PuisiJust like a butterfly calmly resting into a delicate white flower, so does the thought of a pure-hearted poet. Gentle and meaningful.
