He was not my cup of tea,
So I added some Indian tea spices,
He became my cup,
Bursting with aromatic romance,
One cup of him was not enough for me.
5/7/2019

meet me there.
over the horizon,
where the line between the sky and mountains
ceases to exist.
where my canvas remains bare
and blindingly white.
yearning
yearning
to be painted.

splatter me with hues of colours,
then leave me
leave me unfinished.

so i dissolve
my very essence
pooling at my feet.
now a murky shade of brown
i seep to the ground
and lay there.

but a tiny flower blooms in my wake.
nothing but a fragment of what once thrived.

How I love the curls in the mane of the dark horse
dripping down his back like a black waterfall
The obsidian of his eyes matches the soot of my palms
His quivering nostrils like my quivering heart

I feel snowflake dreams
slip from weakened fingers
How I promised to keep you
and meet you up the mountain
I stand in shadow
the dim edge of early morning
convinced the peak will turn gold without me

Throw your dice as you might
but you will never win the World’s game
For the rules always change
faster and faster as the day wains