At the door step she stood,
Begging to come in,
‘It’s winter out here, ‘ she said.
‘I belong in there,’
The door ajar, my arms too,
She came in, stayed in,
Warmed her seat, packed it, left…
Foeward.

Passion freely salsa with loath,
Within known territory they made
Of Love shrouded by mystery of existence
Sour attitude up their sleeves,
Revenge, dish best served cold!
It was the only way…
I’ll wait longer than the intended,
Foeward.