Blossom Kiss

No picture, if I write poems about my dreams I don't tend to like having one because it doesn't match the one in my head. 


It was the sweetest kiss
his lips like a blossom 
pressed just against mine 
his eyes were brown
so deep, and so kind.


We were sat down in the street
 I leaned my face to his 
and knew I was his to keep 
but I woke up
and realised I had been asleep. 


His face is blurred 
lost in my dreams 
I wish I could find him
but I don't know if he's real
it just feels as if he is
because of that tender
blossom kiss.

Our Lips

Just got back from a night out, not sure if it will say this is Saturday (the 15th) poem or not. Stupid time  difference. Still feeling a bit merry so sorry if this doesn't make sense. Don't really want a picture for today's. 

Lips do more than talk
when they touch 
sometimes
words aren't needed
noses brush 
can express more than
painting a master piece
and holding hands 
is knowing
that you're not alone.