they speak lightly,
their dulcet voices competing against the
melodious harmonies of soothing ballads –
repeated utterances of
people say repetition brings
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.
yet too much of heaven is a sin,
smothered by the scent of lemongrass
dappled with the caresses of
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.