Or some other day of the week.
I was busy, living life in rhythm,
In sounds and beats, lights and colours,
The world desaturated in my eyes.
Another wavelength, electromagnetic.
Then she came into view
The bars peaked like no other
Undercover I was till she pulled them off
Without even laying a finger
Tap tap, step by step
She walks.
Hair like palm leaves
The wind as if in servitude to their motion.
She walks.
Her feet leave emotions
Traces of them, in every shape and colour
Tales of tales untold
Deceit, anger, betrayal
Passion.
She walks.
As she stops, so does all life around her
She sees through obsidian
But with me they cloud her vision no longer
Because with her
I am her vision.
Her lips a breath away from mine
And like a breath she disappears
With no memory or record
Of origin or of end.
Like a cruel tease,
Like a dimming light of hope.
She is Miss Who.
