LADY LOVEHEART

 

I love seeing people chattering, bickering on a hot Istanbul night.

Sitting in a bar, cross-legged, cuba libre in my hand.

Blondie sits across to me, bubbly like a freshly bloomed freesia.

She is well aware I have lost it all minutes ago.

 

Blondie takes my hand in her.

All I see is blur and all I feel is a pair of hands.

Warm and soft, amber encases the hawk.

Who is it to blame?

 

Wind comes crushing to my bare chest.

It brings the mossy smell of dirty blue and black.

I trust her, A firm grasp on my forearm.

She would raise me from where I fell down.

 

Trust is a word comes with its heaviness

To trust her, I would become the Atlas of great azure.

Walking through the crowd is fever with hot flashes.

Blondie holds me still.