Hummingbird

Brilllaince conjoined in filigree so meagre, subliminal as the sound transports the body to a space, vaccumized ; where, amidst the darkness the only thing radiating light were the fine fillaments of the cotton seeds resting silenly on her body.

And they are not there without a reason. The static in her attracts them, wanting to to make love with her. She, despondent of any worldy attire seeked just about the surrealism that the cotten seeds , flairled with their fine hair like tentecles, offer.

The sound now turns from its nothingness to an earth shattering drone of a conch. The vaccum itself evaporates as the river fast approaches. The floodgates open and eddies, violent, captivating, terrifying, engulf her. She lies still, still; wanting to take in as much as she can. Opening herself, she tries to nullify the obduracy inside her. How come she inspires but never gets inspired ??

And the window opens, armour in the chink where diasies bloom, and sonnets, worth all their weight in gold abound, dime a douzen. She is them, ever hopeful, in love, a girl, even if for as brief a moment as a single flap of the humminbird.