Sometimes a warm puddle,
A leftover spill of cappucino.
Othertimes a rock that grates to ashes petal soft intentions.
An armed fortress questioning between lies and sincerity,
Othertimes, two smoldering flames that scald with just a look,
a silk ribbon of wordless whispers.
Pages that tell tales of magic and horror when dared turned
Daggers to pierce and nail to a crucifix any trespassors
Warm, like the sun set smiling on a sienna sea
A sponge soaked with all said, unsaid; dense with wonder; heavy with possibility
singing lullabies of light to the night.
"I could read you" said a stranger to these eyes, one day:
"You are hurting but you've accepted it" were they told.
And these eyes in muted silence, nodded.