Nocturne
Rivulet, tasted moonlight.
Cloud-perfumed glide.
Mist’s thrilling the leaves
Time’s grinding some whist.
The coldness is quiet. Just trembles.
Stars are playing on the harp over.
My ballerinas’ shadowbutterflies
Are flitting in the icelucid night
My tendril like arms are twisting
Scrambling, squrming up to the spheres
I’m grinding with my fingers mild vibrancies
Tasting with my lips rustling lustre memories.
Solitude. But magic, spell and glamour.
Then rendez-vous, chit-chat , inner town.
