Friday 20 November 2009 10.31pm The Libra.
It is cold out here tonight. The wind is blowing fiercely, slapping my bare face with no mercy at all. And I gaze long into the dark desolated skies, musing alone amidst the sounds of laughters which only succeed in making my mind drift further into your ocean.
"What does not remind me of You?"
I watch the thousands illuminating neon lights of a metropolitan city through my long matted eyelashes and I see You floating in the mist among the Bluebells. The view of your ragged face magnificent and loathsome. Your ample shoulder a mimic of Hercules shouldering a corpulent amount of a failed past.
Through the wet fishy air, I smell you; your audacity, intertwined with the femininity you try to hide so much. I close my eyes and swim in the ocean of your fragrance, your warm liquid washing me through, rinsing all the desires I have for you. I could stay like this forever, kiss your essence dry and never have enough.