a glint of mischief
taint those somber eyes
aged rhum after all
leaves a tinge of
bittersweet,
butter-sweat.
better.
black as marble
white as the sea
that embraces the flash
of a lightning that dares not
strike He.
Him, who was lost
‘coz the rain swept aside
the tracks left by another, who
wandered about, raced away,
scampered around
till she lay still
quiet
as the mouse
tiptoeing
with prima donnas
different, yet swaying
to the same rhythm
precise in her moves
because she flows
gracefully
as only rodents can.
his yearning heart
beating hastily
faster, perhaps,
than the speed of sunshine
must weather the norm
wither, wilt, wane
fade into the unknown
that he may melt once more
to become one
with the
stone.
