Saffron sprays out of her face,
Adorned with crinoline above,
Little crinkles sticking inside as she smiles,
Eyes speak of sorrowful silk sticking
Outside of her waist.
And oh, the way she walks,
Slow tracing of haphazard pathways,
Light, hollow steps,
Directionless,
She defies conventions,
And straight lines are often conventional.
But i can see emerald flames dying out
Each time I turn around to see her,
Same time on each day at the same spot.
A touch of velvety thorns on my palms,
Overwhelming,
It's always here but I deny it's existence,
And i shudder into seamless agony,
Pirouetting about a conundrum
I know the solution to.
But all i do is stand there,
Gazing at the romance that exists
Between her tongue and the
Pink, somewhat red, scoop of ice cream.
This one in the name of that Nepali Girl !!
