by abbya

I am making a picture of you waitress.
You are making a song of me, I guess.
Serve me your face in the platter of night
Serve your smiles in the veil of light 
How may I contain the rush of your waterfall,
And hold the ceaseless current of your golden wall? 

Waitress by abbya

© Copyright 2006. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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