Mug of love

Sitting underneath this transcending tree
Furthermore, tuning in from up above
To an ensemble of songbirds
Whose fine tunes variety the night moon
I recall how delightful life was
At the point when we held solidly between our hands
The sensitive cup of adoration.
I recall those long evenings
At the point when your head lays on my chest
The flavor of your lips
At the point when it gets trapped with mine
Like a bubblegum in the organization of hairs
I recall the sound of strides in obscurity
The dimple that structures on your cheek
At the point when chuckling strokes you
The evenings when I was puzzled
Gazing at your face.
Today our cup of adoration is no more
For it is currently broken all around the floor
With nothing to return to
Save, old buddy, for the bits of recollections
That will torture us until the end of our days.

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