Borrowed Time
In the wake of the midnight hour the air of love is sweet, yet sour. I’d fall asleep to the Congo drums beating within your heart, I’d awaken, only, to the sound of your soft voice telling me, “I love you.” Where have you gone my love? I should be thanking the Man upstairs for blessing me, with you, for such a short time. Instead, my heart screams at Him for taking you away from me so soon. You were not mine to keep. I was just borrowing you for awhile. Written February 3rd, 2002 © on Feb 03 2002 07:23 AM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"In the wake of the midnight hour..."