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In Anticipation of a Whisper
On the fifteenth floor her gaze drifts down, a sheer Cliff's edge where fog and smog embrace in tentative Courtship, veiling the city from her austere, Watchful perch. The world below moves, effusive,
In miniature. The ants below, divorced from her wondering Mind, unaware of the weight of last night's date - Did he bathe in her words, or simply pander to hungering Gaps of silence? Her room a cage, ornate,
Yet empty, she ponders the when, or if - the tremble Of a phone unshaken, a signal lost in the city's deep Lungs. Will she break first, dial the number, assemble Fragments of courage? Or does she keep
To her windowed throne, queen of questions and cats, Her heart a pendulum 'tween love's might-haves and might-nots.
© Tiger64X2
In miniature. The ants below, divorced from her wondering Mind, unaware of the weight of last night's date - Did he bathe in her words, or simply pander to hungering Gaps of silence? Her room a cage, ornate,
Yet empty, she ponders the when, or if - the tremble Of a phone unshaken, a signal lost in the city's deep Lungs. Will she break first, dial the number, assemble Fragments of courage? Or does she keep
To her windowed throne, queen of questions and cats, Her heart a pendulum 'tween love's might-haves and might-nots.
© Tiger64X2
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