at the time, the sun had dimmed
began to fatigue and hurried home.
he said, he will come again tomorrow
he said, his turn is up.

the golden embodiment is now red
and he made the sky purple, bruised
till the sky lost his gallantry,
then made unwilling to meet his sweetheart.

his globular sweetheart
bright white and graceful
who reigned over the dark night
who comes along with millions of other lights
and forever
his love will not be delivered

me into you just like a boat that voyaged but cannot be anchored
rolled and abused
drowned and ridiculed
in the middle of ocean space
not lost
but cannot go home.

the funny thing is
i hold on.

there's something similar about sunset
the way embers scoff the incenses
there's something similar about the way hour hand moves on the clock.
the way sand changing color while drying up
there's something similar about the flowers furl in the afternoon
the way tears restrained in the eyelid.

and in the same way, you turned away.

so slowly, yet so sure...