In the mist she was standing, quiet, privy.
Her porcelain heart, absent to the world,
Lay bare, carving patterns in the ivy.
Dew of her youth, silken, as it unfurled.
And smothers, his face, the dripping nectar
Of her flesh, as he lies dumbfounded there.
And finds the moments breaking the specter
Of the smog, into a form that’s so rare.
Benighted, oblivious beneath the sky
They render a touch in credence, in trust
“To bid you farewell”, he whispers his sigh
She chooses silence, and silence she must
April, ethereal, obscures in time,
Those hours of wealth, the twosome, sublime.
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