Triptych.

Watching. Waiting. Falling.


The roiling clouds billowing across the mental landscape.
Omnious, petulant, strident cracks of protest.
Tongues of light stabbing the horizon.
A pack of horses galloping across the dusty plains.
Hooves thundering, eddies of dust twirling in their wake.


And the raging stops, the sudden silence deafening.
Swirled patterns of sand etched into the barren landscape
Radiating out before melding into the cloudless sky.
A triptych of self, silvered sand and clear cerulean sky.

Then we meet. And we touch.


A myriad explosion of colour erupts.
Coruscating flashes of carmine, indigo, magenta.
Sand, sky, self blend into a seamless tapestry of motion and coloured light.
Gripped by a maelstorm of madness, a raucous riot of sensations and emotions.
Lulled into serenity by the comforting embrace of familiarity.

And I am drowning.
Drowning in velvet.

Watching. Waiting. Falling.