Apple and cinnamon,
the steaming coffee cups
I’m letting my lips wander on.
Bring me to the coldness,
bring me to her strange, yet fine coziness.
Bring me to the falling of the leaves so brown,
don’t make me frown yet when the realation hits ; The fall doesn’t go on for always.
Instead make me remember it peacefully when she’s taking her rest..
Bring me to the fireplaces,
where the rhythm of the crackling coals keeps my heart and their races.
Bring me to the scented forests,
with my thoughts there; they rest.
Yes, our rosy cheeks,
Our white and cold hand that seeks
for the streaming of warm blood within;
because without their blood we ain’t feel anything.
Luckily at the evening we let our hands warm up by the fire
and we drink moroccan tea in desire..