In the sky, a dark gloomy cloud
hovering, through tinted windows watching
after a sip of bitter black liquid
vigorous soul jumping, wanting
euphoria so vague, unclear, but exact
notes
on skin, written in ink
indescribable penmanship, comprehensible thoughts
does coffee really taste bitter or maybe it’s just an
estimation of a million complications
abstract trying to be concrete
why? one may ask
how do you answer your own questions, is
another matter of controversy
that’s two today
Infinite
more, tomorrow
so perhaps, the
clouds are dark, but they don’t
actually feel gloomy
rather, what the earth sees is the
exact opposite of their real sentiments
deception? duplicity? doubt maybe in their waters–
one more cup;
four million more questions