mildly stormy,
scribbling away in my room,
padding into the kitchen
bare feet,
the smell of the burner flame
scribbling away in my room,
padding into the kitchen
bare feet,
the smell of the burner flame
propane, pleasant, dangerous,
the muted swish of rainy wind
on the roof
and the silence of the house,
a dead mango leaf
dried and wet
flies in through the window-
smelling faintly of mangoes
and summer
or maybe, it's the wind-
as the milk turns and boils
and the smell:
milk and mangoes and rain,
heading back with the mug
through the blue in the hall,
my white table lamp
and scattered around, all about
bits of me
my definitions.
That July afternoon,
it hails outside
on the roof
and the silence of the house,
a dead mango leaf
dried and wet
flies in through the window-
smelling faintly of mangoes
and summer
or maybe, it's the wind-
as the milk turns and boils
and the smell:
milk and mangoes and rain,
heading back with the mug
through the blue in the hall,
my white table lamp
and scattered around, all about
bits of me
my definitions.
That July afternoon,
it hails outside
You amaze me every time with your detailed, picturesque, ever flowing verses!
ReplyDeleteI just fall for them head to heels!
Wish I had a little bit of that thought!
Once again you proved your self!
:)
ReplyDeleteThanks a bunch! Really hope they're good enough for these words!