I wanted to hear them hail from your lips <br />those stories, <br />speaking of portraits not painted yet, <br />journals empty not yet committed to the hue of sin <br />with a story opening without any end. <br />a diary of lovesick appraise, to become the sculpt of us <br />our mirror with adoring eyes... <br />but the pages were worn, at times full of ink <br />violet and ripe, nothing like me. <br />The flow of my hand is light as a dream.<br /><br />Eila Mahima Jaipaul<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/adultery-3/
