Impression, soleil couchant

Two they were,
and two sufficed.

Brows bowed upon shoulders,
in a bracket closed on deep green strolls
and deep green eyes,
and here and there a violet speck.

Taunting the light with the breadth of their stories
- stories sun-scraped lands are so, so ignorant of -
so that it would become immersed in sleep
lower and lower into the water’s medley of violets.

Slowly warding off the world.

Surrendering its crutches for a while
to the willows’ billowing leaves
lest they should ever be forced
to touch the shadows left on bare ground.

Perched. At last.
The intertwined branches of a mellow grin.
Brows perched on beating hearts,
and everywhere a violet haze.

Two they were,
and two sufficed.