Shimmering drops still
Clinging, dripping down
the window still
After the rain has ceased.
.
Several streaks still lined
On skin from striken eyes traced down, after
the heart has cried it’s last.
.
Solitary, swivelling leaf
Fluttering through the silence,
Grit hung in the wind,
When a storm has come to calm.
.
Sharp sniffs, suffering breath,
punctuated gasps of air,
Into a quaking spirit,
After its rush and still.
.
In a minute of silence
and a second of thought
a memory flickers through, then fades,
After a moment of suspended noesis.
.
Is it but only, an extrapolation?
Or brief contentment in this state?
By the window still, on a rainy day
From the bitter aftertaste
of that cup of coffee
I drank in haste?
………….
PS: I really have no idea what made me compose this bit, I think I don’t understand the muse that brought this. Yet I feel it’s some inarticulate feeling I’m still to uncover…?
