She
sits by a lagoon, staring at a daffodil, mourning its existence. He has seen
her before, unaware of the impact of her beauty.
Male:
I’ve seen you before, shadowing the woods, while caressing leaves.
Female:
And I saw you watching, seemingly afraid, and captured by shallow thoughts.
M:
I was captured more by shallow beauty: to wonder of its visitation upon such a
breath.
F:
I am beauty, as shallow, nay, as hollow as dreams. I look for such a one to
rescue me.
M:
It has been too long for loneliness; where you dwell at its portico.
F:
Take the prow, my fantast muse; else we swim through wreckage.
M:
I am moonish through you. Your eyes awaken sorrow; and pain follows.
F:
I am this daffodil, to station near life, to suffer through soul-quakes. It is
less my heart and more my perception, strung through cycles of death; and it is
less my perception and more my heart, flung into deception.
M:
I deceive with purpose: a presence to grip perception, a heart to rain
affection. We are strangers to chance upon breath, a world of more value than
days of norm.
F:
You speak allusions of moonquakes, a yoke scraping an acorn; but we long for
more words.
M:
Carpet is grassy sands; and opera is flapping wings; and we stitch each word
with a tint of contempt. I see for beauty a welcomed home, for I tingle through
ever tendon.
F:
While you tingle, I am apologetic, even a fantasy, longing for a stranger.
M:
You open boxes, where a heart beats: I nibble bait.
F:
Well grip for hook, where seaquake eyes may rest.
M:
I am more to keep a distance; for songbirds are similar to seasons, they soon
depart.
F:
In thought, I am more than mere seasons. I am a cycle participating in the
stream of life.
I
am yearly; affected by nature, and partial to weather’s soul-beat. So be not
afraid, and change not the station, for we are more than seasons.
M:
May I sit at your side, if ever to absorb such mystique?
