Two souls wait for each other like hunchback of Notre Dame wait for the evening gloam
Each bitting the web of time in its own way to merge love and beauty alike in equal measure
Morroco was a distant shore in those days where a painter would learn thousand stars stripped on to the canvas
And a muse of Montreal dreams chase the evening clouds out into the dusty roads till soaking wet in rain
What is love then? To pent up in rain, or stars, or dusty roads or each other then
to wait for nothing in the mildew thoughts of the mountains, to give away a part of oneself as the one soul speaks up
the silence in wooing the other for nothingness!