from the Hollowscape
The warm-blooded saint
and the icy blue killer
met one day on
the path of dust.
The stole from each
other, vitality and
secrets- they embraced
In the null gray morning.
Lightning danced.
Whirlwinds met.
Dervishes mingled.
Clouds grew red.
The heavy rain
poured down and
soaked the path.
They laughed and
left each other
with wild eyes
and tingling skin.
The saint grew cold.
The killer grew warm.
Both of them
missed the lightning.
