In his subtle brilliance,
she secretly loathed herself.
A free thinker, an earnest soul,
he loved beyond limits or control.
She was a fountain, followed by a drought,
Demure but daring, sure but distraught.
In her turbulent vicissitude,
he quietly bathed himself.
Always moving, always leaping,
every inch in her, boisterous, million thoughts creeping.
He cherished the slow-pace, loved to linger,
Passionate but lost, an ambition-less singer.
In her turbulent vicissitude,
he quietly bathed himself.
Always moving, always leaping,
every inch in her, boisterous, million thoughts creeping.
He cherished the slow-pace, loved to linger,
Passionate but lost, an ambition-less singer.
1 comment:
nicely written
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