Nothing of the Kind

A. Cristina Emanuela Dascălu

You always in the foreground

First and foremost, sweet lunacy

March madness, April extravagance,

Unbated, unbroken, undisclosed nebula

Such an unshakeable one, your face all composed

No matter what I say, what we do

And me so unwise to engage in this clatter of hoofs

Lower my chin, look deep into your eyes

Deny the optic perception, the inauspicious gaze

Such an indistinct jittery thought

Persisting the neighs of untrodden roads