For someone who searches away for frozen water,
knowing the passage of time as a flower in hurt;
irrigating it by raw pitchers of sunken voice;
as obedient of desire to quench his dedicated thirst.
I'm like the water, meek or a stream;
as a sea in the moon to reflect full bloom,
in fierce tides when come to shore, move away
flowing naturally to proceed for the current.
In waters down, you are in a thin movement,
smooth and flexible as a tender calm serene,
thunderstorms of cold showers in a sadness,
since tears from retina docks, a source of inner aqua.
A beauty of rain has congruity in force of wind,
does mal-storm in blind anxiety fires of soul;
where moist asleep pulls the breeze to reborn.
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