Shadows color the edges of your eyes,

Like you'd smeared kohl all around -

Over your lids, underneath your blinks.

Your cheeks a darker peach than your caramel skin.

Your eyebrows tree brown

As like your short, wavy curly hair is.

Two lines stretch from your nose

To the tips of your grin

That doesn't really look like a grin.

Are you even grinning?

Your lips are flat straight

Two bubbles strung in a straight line

across the pointed end of your oval face.

No upturned corners,

But why do I get the feeling you're smiling?

If I never looked closer

I'd think back, and see a smile on your face


The sun right behind your head.

You're so clueless,

But I can clearly see the curls, bends and flyaways

At the edges of the circle of your hair -

They're highlighted in golden light,

But not golden.

I've never seen your face that way


Rocking on your butt,

A sleeved arm

Hugs your knee.

A fitting black, leather,



A red top with see-through red sleeves,

Random velvet patterns on your reddish arm

That ends with a net of thick pink threads

Twined at the tip of the sleeves

Where it grows from,

Slowly untwining as my eyes continue

Walking on the threads.

The threads end, brushing against

The heel of your foot, and the golden strap

Of your stiletto.

A grapey color on your nails.

You sit on the gravelly ground -

The roof of some flat.

The blur of other flats

Just beside your left leg.

You're alone, yet not alone.

You hug your knee, and crouch towards your legs

Like you're feeling like a hermit,

But you're really not.

It could be

8 in the morning,

Or 7 in the evening -

Those times of the day when everything is colored

A mild, fresh golden,

And you get the feeling of a new hope.

Because it's either the end of the day,

Or the beginning of a new one.

I wonder why

I feel so peaceful.

Is it that I'm alone, yet there's no isolation?

Is it the way the air smells -

The dust, the ash, the smokes,

The pile up from the afternoons,

All cleared away?

Reminding that

Things can be renewed,

Second-chances aplenty.

Is it enjoying the silence, yet thankful

Knowing that the silence was going to end?

Is it the knowing

Of the sun -

The rising and the sinking?

Is it that

For a little moment on the rooftop,

It's all mine?

Whatever It is...

Nobody to disturb me, yet everybody to

bother; alone

Yet not alone.