Musca domestica on a morning greed;
Being a vector towards the new floral bed.
Succulent Trichostema, nefariously gorgeous;
Ornamental nectar, sensually generous.
The etanolic fragrant petals open up slowly,
Divulging their coveted sweetness all down completely.
Flapping so fast, embraced by precious wings;
Zooming around, the Musca swings.
Penetrating deep until it’s base,
Angelically sweeping every drop in chase.
Extracting the flavourful against the morning blue,
devouring flowers, opulence in all day pursue.
I no longer feign tenderness,
I don’t dawdle in cynical love.
The perennial elements I face in all aridity,
and in annual shedding I embrace the loss.
My words haunt to transgress my sanity,
mishaps turned into perpetuity.
Swirling pain, running through my vein;
Ambiguity of cessation, no sign of rain.
Everything is freezing,
and the wind is breezing;
Clouds beyond clouds above us,
crisply, the bright snow whispers.
Rejuvenating flakes, crunching beneath our feet,
valleys camouflaged along the crystal streets;
Tenderly landing till it melts on your cheeks,
your hands in my pocket, until our souls speak.
The branches bend over like spindly fingers,
beyond the snowy hills, our eyes linger;
In the symphony of twilight blizzard,
we stop snowshoeing until the light withered.
The cold earth slept below,
above the cold sky shone.
When the stars have glittered the skies,
in the middle of the dark we rise;
Shivering in our nakedness,
by the cold wood bonfire, our souls dress.
Icy-blue skies, unblanketing the dawn,
golden apricity, uncloaking the heaven;
The trees, houses, and hills and lakes,
are frosted like a wedding cake.