Silence

You gifted me a tangerine flower last year,

See! Coyness is still there,

you called me the lemon-squeezer man----

yet you are too late for the night glows,

your love is brimful, and your fires are sodden, I could not make love freely, fervently,

I was neither sullen nor alive, and I love nothing, I desire nothing, I want to be nothing, I am nothing, 

Peeping into the oceans of your light-filled eyes, emptiness and long silence upon the wide shore 

Love a violent feeling most indiscreet, had a piercing arrow, sipping and thrashing, yet is known to be 

the violet-scented water, dark and deep, 

Fictional time, 

Rolling down like a red carpet underneath the violet-tinged ocean,

the tossing waves fall over the vast seashore, birds are flying and dead. 

Time is short, intermittent, and stopped, 

 and each flourishing flower is now dead...