Beneath stars we could find silences

Beneath stars we could find silences
with your hand at times straying into mine,
the smell of gardenia was on the wind
with the moon shining with every golden ray,
your lips were mine with an own language,
somewhere a bush shrike called
and it was icy cold on the red porch
with a star suddenly shooting past
and every previous wish I then recalled
before it faded into the naught.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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