Like a king the soulbird sits, on a branch
governing this weeping silence.
There is an awakening
falling in to this space of
borrowed grass whispers
and shared fences painted
like naked lover, back turned and eyes shut fast.
He is a noble man filled with sugary words
and candy smiles. She be lady in waiting,
latte’ sipping, red lips dipping,
nail polished tips – no splitting.
Between them, half filled glasses
measure words half spoken,
thoughts, half shared.
Now, be silent.
Do you hear the heartstrings
spilling passion upon this grass.
Lavish stories laid down on your ear.
There is a flowing of stories
when you let silence mingle
with the wine of your heart.
(c) A Hannan
Sultry Soliloquy 