With a fresh spill of ink
the pure sheet dresses in
Twisted scribblings.
Some red
some white
each blending in the other
as hues of the evening sky.

A light fragrance
teases my senses.
Driving me into a world
of pretenses.
The dusk follows
a sense of calmess.
Bathing me with bliss
of some unknown essence.

Staring at the two
holding hands
like two parts of a soul.
I wonder if that's what
it looks like.
A word I have never believed
and a word which has
multiple identities.

The ink dried, and
with the blink of an eye
The forever dematerialized.