I like walking over frosty puddles fracturing as my weight ruptures
The sensation of ambling backwards
Watching the sea hit the sand
Observing the daisies shut
Showing their twilight blush
The smell of lemon balm
Going over a **** back bridge fast
I don't like the rain, lest it is a deluge
Or mizle that dampens the soul
Watching people too blind to see
The beauty in the simple and sweet
***** dishes oozing with matter
Food squashed in between plates
Trolly deserters
And the taste of someone else's vape

A ghost walking the day
like a spy upon a dream,
she stares out of a window
arrayed in black bombazine.
Hair tinged with a little grey,
such sadness she bears alone,
drifting through the quiet rooms
of a cold and empty home.
Saving her love for loneliness,
wrapped in an airy husk,
night cannot come to soon
and the veil fall with dusk.


© Pagan Paul
.