Out of Breath

It was in the colour of her eyes—

How, she loved her morning coffee.

And on her lips,

Why she adored roses.

How, along the curves of her waist,

I felt the essence of the dunes.

And why was it that her voice—

Just something they listen to,

In the heavens.

Why the gushing waves,

Held her hair's wild grace.

And thus to drown in them,

Out of breath—

Would be such a happy death.