Aug 2020
I watch her.
I watch her,
as the night drapes over her window,
as the stars tangle in her hair,
I watch her,
as the chiseled imperfection
of the moon stirs her inky musings,
I watch her ,
in the uncertain glow of the dying candle,
in the torrent of tattered thoughts,
I watch her,
watching me through the silver-smeared glass,
through the pits of colourless brown,
I watch her as
she slowly traces the silence,
silencing the traces of him.
I watch her,
as the night drapes over her window,
as the stars tangle in her hair,
I watch her,
as the chiseled imperfection
of the moon stirs her inky musings,
I watch her ,
in the uncertain glow of the dying candle,
in the torrent of tattered thoughts,
I watch her,
watching me through the silver-smeared glass,
through the pits of colourless brown,
I watch her as
she slowly traces the silence,
silencing the traces of him.
