Poetry

Perhaps you know, 
that you do not know, 
the moment of truth is here, 
and we are at the cross roads. 
 
Night is without a cloud 
and crescent moon is questioning a star. 
Ghost of strayed peace 
has slided back in dark. 
Pure chemistry of love is boiling. 
 
Planting the tender flowers on lips 
I find nothing. I think I will go 
for a new lover. 
Strawberry was your choice, 
but I always craved blue berries. 
Pulpy red and blue black were teeth apart. 
 
Your eyes are unreadable, 
a watery grave of pain. 
Something impossible should happen 
Poetry is waiting for symbiosis.