Then when it was dark beneath the clouds,
I waited; waited for the moon to be visible.
The unavailable me thus misses the interpretation –
That the mere reflection of light doesn’t really matter.
If it’s all-encompassing and over-arching,
If there’s truly no end of those seemingly finite curves,
What to wait for!
Within the reach of the firm grip love lies.
But that’s another free fall towards the infinity.
If you want to be cloaked by your desire’s blanket,
The cold winter will never stop.
Then when it was bright and glowing,
I was running through the corridors with your hands in mine.
But there were no ways to abstract from the particulars.
All the general notions can blend into meaninglessness.
But the vanishing nothingness melds into your lips,
As the passion can never be absent or cease to exist.
So then a romantic interlude.