Letter to a bird..

dear sandra,
pardon my letter scribed in haste,
a night couldn't fall before it got to you,
i know your heart did shut,
not even a micro thought of me,
but my eyes have never shut,
at the beautiful image of you,
my lips never anything bitter ever tasted,
as the icy tears that did your cheeks cascade,
and my heart never a beat ever missed,
in memory of two hearts that together did croon,
to melodies and rythms of bodies that met,
soft lips,
warm flesh,
easy breathing,
they were nights of pleasure,
but all that sits an archive,
of sunsets that once were,
for you now fly a lonely bird,
that crows like ngartia chase,
too swift for them they anger,
wishing you could sit together on a branch,
watching weaver birds do their arts,
and listen to the blowing wind,
yes my dear sandra,
this crow to its nest wishes you visit,
and let it admire your feathers,
a check on your wings and talons,
wishing they could devour you,
before the eagle takes to the skies,
and rips it apart,
though of pretence a friend be,
this crow your beak admires,
at your feathers does quiver,
the alignment,
the decorations in you,
the way you take flight,
a victim of admiration you do leave behind,
yet the crow seats and boast,
in pre-recorded laughter and plastic smile,
in mockery and satire,
of your curves,
from sight to bum,
a little jealous that i ,
from your fountain did drink,
and given chance again would drink,
while it of thirtst does die,
so if you can its thirst quench,
a little favour for a a moon lit night..