fling

∴ there flies the lady, where?
over yonder, gossamer-winged
as dark as the tempestuous skies
it thrills her so—turbulence and chaos

if you’re fortunate
on a whirlwind evening
when clocks strike
‘round midnight’s muse
(make sure it’s the new moon)
you too may catch her fleeting glimpse
among the thunderous firmament

eternal seeker
under depth’s disguise
she is tender
just as she is strong
he’s witnessed that too

not a fling of desire, but a longing
you see him as the jester
hope’s harbinger
he cares not

living for these moments
ephemeral sites
heart unfurled
treading storms with determination ∴