She is free, afloat, watching somebody else,
She pretends to spy her loved ones in sun-speckled cloud shapes,
She has not been asleep.
Squashed roses, in darkening shades of pink, float on the water
Your time has come, they say
Go, be brave.
She has a distinct hourglass figure,
She wears a long, lilac gown,
Her skin is white as whole milk,
Her lips are a peachy orange.
She finally closes her eyes,
Kiss me, kiss, kiss, sweetheart, she whispers.
He holds out a hand for her to grab,
Both beautiful, they meet,
She doesn’t blush, and he breaks down,
She lets him fall into the calm, glassy waters,
This is the thing called ‘love’
A story of enchantment.
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