The Rhythm

May 23

Within the confines
of my palpitating machine
that flushes out what it receives retaining nothing but never without
I feel the strings beating the walls
of four chambers to play a tune,
and give ear to the droopiness
of the slumberous solitude
encircled by the petals
of roses of my garden,
I feel a rhythm,
a syncopation of soul
that beckons someone,
so divine, offering the elixir
in the highs of my soul being...

I rise in the morrow
in the love and wellness
with an intoxicating fragrance
of the fortuitous wait
promising passion
of its happening
with no ifs
and buts...