It’s misty, my eyes are not teary, just signs of rain.
I’m scorched and hard, burning with desire to be your earth.
You’re feisty, your eyes are fiery, justify the pain.
No longer a nesting bird, I’m flowing to your hearth.
We’re misty, we get all “teary”, our garments are slain.
We’re in the yard, I’m speaking my worth.
aime_ibakumpoetry 