Hiroshi

Moonlight crying on white linen, fingering lace curtains, glancing apprehensively at distorted reflections peeping through Waterford crystal framed in silver, a silence almost apologetic creeping through the room, trying hard not to disturb the softly sleeping gloom. Melting gently through my bedroom wall, wind chimes, barely heard bamboo sighs, Geisha whispered words that penetrate my sleep with velvet promises from far away, I feel their kiss upon my eyes after the waking of the dawn before the night wind dies. Liquid noises scattered on the day nudge my slumber, quietly taking my hand, waiting for my eyes to see through milky listed windows, barely discernible visions, fading remnants...View all