Sunset slips on like silk,
touching golden on your supple skin.
And the earth is graspless,
as if without friction on this
dazzling twilight that refuses
to engulf the azure sky.
The water trickles, and
breezeless, the grass still flutters –
Leaping after the butterflies and
in a desire so undesperate that it’s tasteless,
just a scent that flickers, merely happenstance
and meshed in buoyant pipe dreams.
This priceless clockwork shimmers, passing
swift on it’s fairy way – but we let it pass,
for after all, the world is young and the sun
has always bloomed again.
