You’ve come during a peculiar time:
When thoughts have consumed my being
And I’ve been starved of dew.
When rain no longer penetrates my pitless pores
And the reserved May breeze
Does not befriend my skin –
Your sickly nectar poisons my unrelenting monologue,
It slashes at its veins
It gashes, scratches and maims it.
Your allure beds my contemplations
With no promise of wedding them.
Your kindness is dishonest
But reveals no signs of lies;
No cluster of mythical words
That I can condemn you for.
So, thank you, Stranger,
For letting me soak under the showers
Of a dull sky,
For warming May,
For a brief euphoria.