She knows not how sweet intoxication flows,
like the inexplicable trickle of rain,
down the tips of withering leaves
a moment where she run out of words,
is perhaps a time the smiles mean all but hollow,
and to find peace means to think of it no more,
but a void isn't easy,
despite the lyrics of many songs
and to find solace is through the words of the ancient
where peace comes with the intent of submission
and it dribbles to a quiet
hearing only the sound of an exhale
laden with intention
to hush a turbulent soul.
