PART 1

He wrote poetry for the woman she hated
A hundred of them...
Of a budding fairytale in soft romantic nights
Of erotic passionate love
She sat and scorned
Then, one day, she found them hidden in the closet
She read till she could read no more,
Each word tearing through her heart...
the wobbling pain would burst her insides,
she had felt, in those extended moments of agony...
Instead the swelling water fell from her eyes,
not like drops, but like a violent unstoppable stream

Shyana had not slept that night
Thinking of the imageries and the metaphors
They danced wildly before her eyes,
Callously blissful in their ignorance,
while she twisted and turned in fire
for a moment of poignant peace.
In those wakeful...