by sweety

Created on: March 18, 2009

Carolina sky, cutting edge of rock,
On top of the world, the blue ridge mountains,
She touches me- soaring right there's a hawk,
Stationary- on the thermal fountains.
Unpromised promises, understood pledge,
In parallel, silent understanding,
So close that words would only be a wedge,
Always there and yet never demanding.
Shared belief and quiet fascination,
Appreciation of the subtle things,
Curious about an explanation,
Yet knowing without the hawk spreads his wings.
Not what you intend, but how you play it,
True love is never having to say it.

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