Two fixed paths
Collide in one rarity
And become uncertain
About everything that came before.
The twilight of a stagnant week
Sparkles
As a new week unfolds before us
hesitant and winding.
A casual approach
A retreat
A searching glance
The impeccable manners
Of a gentleman.
A gentle touch
Cranberry red pulse
Beats and breaks
The façade of a rotting relationship
With another.
Bound to another and yet,
Back less, sheer, low cut
Meant for wondering eyes.
Beneath the pristine disguise;
A bare truth
Two consciences converse
An uneasy compromise.
An open hand
Just one palm reading, just one embrace
Yet- a furry warmth
Creeps up unexpected
A remarkable comfort.
Time becomes relevant to moments spent
Demystifying tea-leaf fortunes with you
Liquid touchstone.
An affair of gestures
And subtle gazes
Abruptly ended
With a Timbergram.
Dyed with gargling emotions
Thick with questions
Heavy, pushed against my heart
Engraved in wood
A flattering three lines
lay flat
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