Wednesday, 1 August 2018

Sveta

Sveta

an enigma arrived on my doorstep,
sinuous and wrapped in black,
a mysterious woman, with olivine eyes, 
a voice like Anna Karenina,
and a story far and wide,
an illusive paper chase. 
but come in; please 
come inside; unfurl your paintings
and step out of the canvas,
to talk your evening art.
and then 
you were gone, moved on, 
and the feather of question floated down;
were you just a phantom on a moonbeam,
between two lonely hearts?
or the rarest of the rare golden keys,
swinging upon a ribbon,
to unlock an aching heart;
and was it you or i 
who released that wicked thought?
and was it you or i, 
who bid the story start?

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