Take me, take me far away,
back to my home next to the sea,
collect with me precious leftovers
of childhood debris,
cast away the old
broken key.
Down by the window
there is a tree,
come,
lie down next to me,
feel underneath us the warmth of that primordial cradle, ground,
listen to the feverish choir of cicadas’ evening sound
dreaming potpourri.
Golden lights, the shape of fruits
will come to our bed, to our pillow of grass,
echoing to our dreams’ lullaby,
the sound of moon's flute.
Hug me, hold me,
and I will kiss you
with never broken promises
of orange blossom scent
on my lips.
-- Sonja Smolec
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