I doubt that the mustangs

Stay within the confines of a farm

In the middle of the night,

They must be curious to find

The unicorn with an angelic light.

 

The pitcher plant might at times 

Be tired of putting on a fight,

It must be laying off the sight

And resting it's head on the low grass.

 

The water looks still and bugged 

And contempt in the coloured glass,

Maybe it wants to feel the nature's colour,

Maybe it wants to taste the roots' flavour;

I set it free and watch it closely 

Being sucked into the earth

As a seedling gives a subtle shake

Of love and gratitude. 

 

The woman with light brown eyes

Enjoys the sun's mild kiss 

And waits to reach home

To be in her lover's arms,

She looks me in the eyes

And concernedly smiles,

Her wordless absurd reaction

Speaks to me clear and aloud 

As she nervously presses her palms,

'Your half of forever 

Is going into whose arms?'