She
arrives like a torrent on the page,
She
derives like a popping spring fest in the garden,
Twittering
around on love and its motion,
It
awakes me; the blue sky is her profile picture,
The
more she sings, the more I press 'like' buttons,
The
friends’ zone becomes 'likes', 'comments', 'sharing',
Of
the silent movement of the page,
The
new age fills my heart with loving sequences,
Those
are terms we are accustomed to use
For
the expression on our mirrored objects,
Upon
the threshold we are like a sphere
Living
on wings of messages, a deserved art.
Time
passes on over the page, I am not in touch
To read the message for which I want to have it sure,
As time and water are creators of new cycles of eyes' matching,
And
there is a gap in two pair of eyes, I feel, and waiting is waste,
Preludes
are too much after the gap, yet no confirmation,
And
I have to wait perhaps for another term of expression, here.
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