Drizzle

A stolen glance
A meeting by chance
Brush of fingers
Handshake that lingers
A hint of love
A searching look

Six feet tall
Some Greek God
A few feet from sight
Miles away to the touch
Framed in a picture
Claspt to the bosom.

But...
Far from the grudges of a drizzling destiny
Is a secret world of flooding fantasy.
A cosy tent atop a blue-green hill...
Where two lovers pretend its chill...
That stolen glance...
And brush of hands...
Grow mysteriously
Into night long trance...
Imploring embrace...
Hands cup the face...
Soft is the glow of dawn...
Hushed are the blue white clouds...
Words are a whisper...
Souls meet with a thunder...

When the dream is over,
So the embrace and the lover,
Wistful is the eye
Long is the sigh
For all that could have been
And all that isn’t.
The Greek God is now nowhere
The moving finger does not care

For all life’s bounty and all its magic
Some lives are meant to be tragic
They have to make do with a few drops
They never get to drink the full glass.