~the pitch of black~.

There are many word's
But often non
When love is of questioning
And night is pretending
To be that daylight hour
You long to feel upon your skin
Hidden behind the those green leaves
that rustle pretentiously
While birds whistle within
Such seed's tall grown
A tree towards the light
Only to open beyond
the pitch of black
A beautiful Silkstone notion
Within the embrace of a love bat
Dripping wet kisses
From the fruit's withered yesterday
But free and fresh before
your very eyes
Not a star in sight to see
Though the wildest galaxy
Oh such thoughts are thing's
And what of love
If not tender springs
Barring fish to swim a shore
And touch the aching heart
Ripped the tide no silhouette
Just a shadow to shape and form
Come the many hours
The soul must ever dawn.

Nardine Sanderson 05/04/2015.