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?