Come back next year

The polygamy of colors ran through the muddy waters –

the goddess submerged her mortal entity, and rode back to the mountains,

lots of stories with her, to reminisce.

Come back next year, people said – little guy with the cotton candy,

old man with little chat stall, the beggar in front of the temple;

the girl in black dress selling love every night,

the guy trying to find it in the city streets.

“I met a talking cat”, I said, she on the rooftop, pensive.

“The moon’s bleeding”, she replied, “Did you find love?”

“I wished for it, to the ten-handed goddess”

embarrassingly looking for an excuse – her eyes piercing, her lips dry with nicotine.

The procession went on throughout the night, people dancing,

wishes floundering, the moon bleeding, us lying naked on the rooftop,

Pink Floyd on the wall ~

Her undulating hair on my face, her scent all over me.

“Dear Love, come back next year”, she whispered.

I laid there, motionless.

Vacant, waiting for my salvation, waiting to drown in her.

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