Let Me Kiss A Flame

In my pensive moon 
I knew you better. 

Never to come back from 
the winds of East. 
I ask my shadow, the prisoner 
of stings, where the truth begins? 

I will never smear 
you with any stain. Culled 
from foam-born, goddesses, 
you become my apple, 
which I would not bite. 

From green lakes of eyes 
will you pick a new name 
and disappear on the wings 
of light to become a daughter 
of rainbow? 

Why did you turn your head, 
to have a last look at 
the painfinder? 

The sun will go down in many colors.