Tigress from the east

Your name

This is a night off by milk and dark,
I return to the desk with paper and words.
Tons of hundreds voices, thousands feet, millions
of staring eyes yet left no joy,
to me,
all the others, sands in coffee flows
into streams of drab glorious
mountains I had or may have conquered.

This was a night off by stings and strings,
it tells an altruistic life in flames,
a word bear in exodus from ancient to
this generation stay in freeze.
A glimpse out of irons, masks and
a face beneath fears me,
it says your name,
my light lit again.

Your name is a word lips end with an "O"
teeth stir a "beep",
controls the air in perfect touch,
brace my yearn in a silent shut.

Sometimes... you know,
a spirit in winter rime is
warmer than summer flame,
silence is a path to a forever truth——
when the night come,
I am a presence in your staying.

Sometimes...you read,
no hymn or pride because
applause is never better than
a fluffed cuddle with a tiny hand in four little petal
like toes,
when the day rise,
I am a warrior beside your company.

But the night is still the
fogs are still.
So I smooth the little mountain where
your freedom is invited,
and whisper
your name.