Riding along the curvaceous road,
I see you bare soul,
confronting the triviality of life as a whole.
I remember when I admired the cover
When I saw nothing but an empty container.
You were everything for me but a lover.
and for you I’m an illegitimate claimer.
You little dove
you are victim of my love.
You were the wrist and I was the cutting knife
following for me each and every rife.
I could never know
You were the only meaningful
of my meaningless life.
You are victim of my love and my life.
writerspit 