Speak; I will listen whenever you speak,
To your words, or the telepathic rendition.
Off, even when you rise as your spiritless alter-ego.
Yet tonight the warmth of your ambiance,
Has doused us in a flammable feeling.
It is a matter of time before we will be ablaze.
The last bird has chirped; the night has more in store.
Listen, my lips speak and taste: this pec is a harvest.
You have been magnified by the famished lights,
A thousand miles have my palms trodden upon your frame.
And the fluffy sensation has us enthralled by this moment.
Let shame be subdued by your anthemic sighs,
Before the glow of your ambiance burns me up.
It is time love, let me kiss you, you are beautiful;
And the dell will be my dwelling tonight.
A poem by Tonny Wandella