by ty

temere –

they speak lightly,

their dulcet voices competing against the

melodious harmonies of soothing ballads –

parallel speeches,

repeated utterances of


paliona –

people say repetition brings

mastery, perfection;

if these hackneyed statements were

germane to helpless endearment,

I would’ve taken the plummet;

a timid step off the edge of the concrete building

towards the gravel beneath.


nemesism –

yet too much of heaven is a sin,

smothered by the scent of lemongrass

dappled with the caresses of

ebony tresses;

your silhouette fades to nullity;

and I fall against the prickly surface

of gravel with the memories of

the raxeira drawn along the parquet floor;


your hand lying in mine.


AN: how long has it been.