A rough night blazing with passion, fiddle with forbidden

moon relinquished at its finest mood, as they

play and tipped the nose of the blanket grill,

faraway at last, I sigh at the sight of even shore.

Delving into the thrust grapes, I wonder the stripes

pondering, how long will it take to get?

As if the fire strangle to choke,

Few minutes, until the blurred vision

crooked behind, heavy lids lift slowly

a painful grunt gripping the edges.

What's between a want and need?

perhaps — dwindling of two curse fates,

I care less with grey hovering my tickling feet,

a sardonic kiss— I'm gone again!

A wanderer of a hay fourth wall,

It doesn't break until the salty wine curls up.

━━━━━━━━━━━