Her eyebrows
and their slow raise,
how her eyes grow big,
how her pupils dilate,
listening to me going
on and on about my trivialties.
Almost like a star
on the moon's surface,
the little black spot
on her face
above her lips
and it's slow raise,
how she smiles and laughs
like there's no tomorrow
in our days,
now all these visions are
what get me through mine,
the beauty of time.

It was all a dream?
Saving a mutt's breath
then a prolonged night
of hearing hers,
and now the night's death?
Lone cold bike rides
then her warm hugs,
and her scent on my shrugs?
When the moon made me feisty
I said how hard could the heist be
and stole the night sky for her?
feeling her hands lost in my mane,
with her and I being just the same
It was all a dream?

Potrait of a rainy night,
strands of her mane
are rain frozen in time,
the way the clouds and rain
immerse the moon in them,
so is her visage,
basking in her skin
through her mane,
the sole stars
in a night like this
are her eyes.
Words are this painter's brush
though none can sum up
how endlessly beautiful
her being is.

Chaos in the chambers
echoing all over dunsinane,
the lady screams
insane and inane,
thence I flee to the forest
to lay still on the grass,
where the nightingale sings
under the moon for hours,
the lady and her raven,
they all keep mum
in this little haven.

Shivers of my worlds,
rivers of my words,
ardent to have flown
in the serene valley,
your mind hath sown.
So much I want to tell,
more than silences sell,
ones you read oh so well,
sightless to the world
but I see you see it all,
behind the childlike innocence
is a mother wrapped in her shawl,
how you see the moon set,
in a way no one else does,
how you talk to the horizon
that follows,
how the stars are kids
playing in the night's lawn,
how they allign silently
as you look on,
as if they are your own.

When it all turns disdain
when it all seems to go in vain,
myriad sounds of her breathings
slither in my brain,
while I catch my own,
with her and her alone.
My heart and the waves racing,
cheery puppies chasing,
as they look at the sun sink
so do they,
in the warm laps of heaven herself,
as she hums, as she sings.

Me and my beret
oh so longed
for the scent of her mane,
as the King for his Queen
atop the Dunsinane.
Disappearance of the scent
from the beret,
how hastily it went,
on your departure's day.
The return is imminent,
with one of your own
resting on your mane,
all the days I yearned
must not go in vain.