down the beach to the spa
deciphering the bashfulness
of that lilac bloomed while being
in mission: betrayed sand!

the skinny Sunday at a gallop
on a pink horse without
any trace on grandma’s
tender visage

the poor acacia dishevelled in
clusters is pouring the shiny
hymn of the bronze Bride
craved for by many and all

because only the deep-rooted one
is allowed to catch in his lap
the burning egg of the venomous
butterfly while the Bachelor
- during epochs of fast –
will be hatching his Bride