I swear i wanna write about flowers,
about places, food, events
but everytime i think of writing
all i wanna do is write about you.
It’s a seasonal disease with no cure.
I’ve always wondered, when the stars
in all their glory are gonna fall on us
but the thought of falling in love with you
chips in, out of thin air maybe?
Is the sound of music any different with
the sound of love?
Or when do silent thoughts get amplified?
I want you to know my heart feels something
If only there were unseen wires signaling
And if eyes tell when someone is craving
for love then mine told a bartender last night
and he just had the right drink.
I hope the petals from our rose of love
If they start falling, i pray that i’ll be there
to pick the last magic petal.
I promise that I’m a book worth reading
not a page filled with regret
and the cover, the cover is beautiful.