What are the odds?

It happened,
on an auburn day that had sleepless moths and clouds that
(resembled you and me whenever we tackled the "shared")
took care of the earthy haze on the village:

Unlike the surface of the ground you step on, it's safe to say you're made of soft wood.

After the brains made a sweet deal with the body and the body swallowed warm drops within its pores, I promptly marched, leaving the terrible turmoil, (the non-sense) behind.
Eagerly, still slow-paced, towards my new daily routine.

What did I see?

Dust and branches alright, with tasks, like mine. On guard and wanting to start, but thinking they would soon want the day to be over.
Such defensive attitude, such dullness.
Not me not today.

Meanwhile:
what is being offered at the left side of this sidewalk?!
Nothing is being offered and so much is wanted, much like seventy-thousand planes all aiming to land on the same spot. Fire is the result, fire stands for craving and ambition.

It doesn't take much to see that, even a dove is inadvertently defensive, glancing everywhere, groaning sometimes. White wings tell a different tale, however.
You glanced, likely.

(one, two, three, there alright!)

How childlike I felt,

Having the mind set on this, I ended the rest of my primarily tasks and maybe got a bit set up to the day that awaited.

Sure time passed,
and time itself opened the gate to the blurry fog, with subtle arms,

how could you set the difference? I couldn't.

You detached a while

(how long is a while your superior asked and you didn' t know the answer either)
from the tasks you were asigned, with intentions
{each and everyone of them shooting, shooting, shifting, dancing from your back, outwards. Plenty of them to see, I'd say}
seemingly at ease.

Can he care?

When in doubt be prepared and make things up I would tell myself.
Carve inside and mold them to make them sound believable.

Indeed, I coupled the words the urban provided, with my words and your words and made a steamy grainy soup out of it!

Afterwards time paved the way and you sank bellydeep on concrete walls,
guided by ancient tellings we would wade so roughly and generously still

How? branches breathe with bruises, boiling boiling boiling beneath.






How mundane we looked on the cold floor tiles, defeated but complete.

Wide-armed.

And wanting.