I am not a bird;
Five or six life-times ago, my name was cursed to infamy.
You see, Morning had come when I had not yet finished stitching my dreams into the night.
And so, I have slept in a cold daze ever since.
It is my curse, that time is of indifference to the silent pulses of my heart;
all of my life, I have been unprepared.
But for you love, my skin mended wonderfuly, and my soul melted ever so beautifuly,
to fit in perfect accord with the song of your smile and the warmth of your arms.
What curse is there to be found, when my name is a sweet symphony every time it shines from your lips....
Brenda Arroyo's Other Poems
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