Tuesday, December 27, 2011

A BOOK

The scent of your warm breath,
is in every petal, every wreath.
Time that passed now no more,
stopped to see the smile you wore.


What is it in you I seek?
The waves of desire in its peak.
Our life is a book thru' the ages,
is worthy as you read the pages...


Prasenjit©1997-2011

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