It was neither forced nor coaxed.
It was always unsolicited,
And could make you gaze at the heavens in bewilderment.
I once thought that it would only make you live in a world of make-believe,
Just like what Austen and Brontë did.
But the moment I heard the doves warbling,
I swiftly knew that I was almost home.
Thou drowned me in thy warmth under the moonlight,
While I painted thee with colors I never knew existed.
The embers of a galaxy in thine eyes,
Wordlessly spoke the deepest darkness;
And divulged the beguiling Albiorix living in thy soul.
With thee, I didn't have to hide the thorns in my roses,
And that was the most beautiful memory of our story.
Painting: Sunset over the Golden Horn (1866) by Ivan Aivazovsky
Published by: Lloyd Agbulos
Date published: February 13, 2022
Time published: 6:07 PM
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