Sunday word hunter: poetry and nonsense,  To beloved ones

Where from

crop faceless couple holding hands on balcony
Photo by Anete Lusina on

Where has this fire come from?

It’s percolated subtle,

In the warm blood of spring rains.

Unconscious camouflaged and unnoticed.

Where does this noise come from?


Your tell-tale voice of sweet,

unlikely twit.

It came like death.

Latched on to me;

Becoming true,

Certain with tik-tak as time.

Not even now I suspect myself diseased.

Flooding of space;

My time submerged in countless but gradual signs;

Silently walking in a dainty smell of familiarity.

So was liking you,

Like night tide;

Slow but sudden.

An unexpected pool full of me,

falling in love.

Faded in love.

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