With thin stroke of gold ink Comet curls inspired by Sparkle gel pen She leans Breathless Over wicker desk In empty stable Her labour, panting Gives birth to a star Five points of view Spinning tails in circles Cosmic brilliance Shared with three wise men Her thoughts twinkling from An angel's wand Her feather quill A silver moon Skating words on a Black velvet palette Until shepherd's Sandstorm Dust flake footprints Drift, settle into A-muse-ing stories The starlet embryos Still cradled in her mind

He stares at her Addresses her formally From a crisp white suit Pressed pocket His handkerchief Neatly folded Envelope-shaped Concealing his decision She stares back, vulnerable Contemplates her feelings Sweaty palms fingering His stark face, a dark type Eyes like commas Pausing, hesitating A mark, unlike lipstick Stamped to his forehead She opens up, massages his back Loosens his tie, his tongue And inside the folds Black ink scratches his words Like a c-r-a-c-k-l-i-n-g voice Over a s-t-a-t-i-c phone A fragment, thin skin of paper Peeling, revealing the rejection His decision, so sorry clinging Like a single rain drop ready to splatter She turns away, eyes moist Clasping yours truly, sincerely Tightly against her breast