the gingerbread night – another sort of story

she had everything,
everything that one should have
on a day like that,
or at least everything one thinks
they should have on a day like that.

her palms smelled like cinnamon
and somehow within her voice
arabesques of caramel instilled
in sweet elusive curves,
and her hair, God! her wonderful hair
was simply the most fluid chocolate cascade,
veiling velvety her bare shoulders,
white and immaculate.

she was sweet indeed,
especially as she sat there, near the window,
seeding words in clay pots
while waiting for the day to end
and for the evening star to rise.

but her eyes,
those big almond eyes,
were sad.

for no matter how beautiful,
she was not complete
in the utter perfection that she was –
she needed something else.

so there she sat,
gazing aimlessly at the sky from time to time,
tending on her seedlings
and threading the passing seconds
on the silky string of her silence.

and then
there it was –
the perfect gingerbread night,
frosted with stars and moonlight,
ready to pin on its canvas her whispers
and to rearrange those into constellations of hope.

smiling a silly smile
she stood up
stretching her arms to feel the warm breath of the night
against her skin
and slowly she melted through the window
towards the night’s core.

when morning came
all of her sweetness had faded away –
behind her, all that was left
were the bushes of words
now turning her room
into a winter garden.

© Liliana Negoi


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