I swayed like a soul spellbound,
drunk on the wine of your eyes—
what magic was poured in your gaze
that turned my world into paradise?
No cup, no hand, no tavern song,
no clinking glass, no pouring stream,
yet every glance from you became
a sip of some forgotten dream.
Your eyes, two silent, sacred wells,
held verses never fully told—
each blink, a prayer, each look, a door
to temples carved in secret gold.
Your lashes, when they fell like dusk,
unveiled a hush the stars could hear,
a hush that knew the tongue of love,
and brushed away my every fear.
No mortal drink could drown me so,
no vintage known, no earthly draught—
yet one brief glance, and I was lost
in longing’s tide, forever daft.
From eye to soul, from glance to fire,
your silence sang, your stillness spoke—
and in that soundless, sacred space,
a hundred ancient vows awoke.
Who brewed this wine that burns so sweet?
Was it your glance, or fate’s own art?
Whatever spilled into my veins
now writes its verses on my heart.
No chalice needed in your gaze,
no tavern more divine than this—
your eyes became my only shrine,
each tear, a drop of blissful kiss.
No comments:
Post a Comment