Water droplets meet grease on heat, so spit and hiss with rage.
Abruptly, sounds of summer reunite while wintry memories fade.
Yet chargrilled wings and smokey thighs taste better in the shade.
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Sijo Challenge found here
Image from pixabay.com
I remember when I was told:
“Do trust the eyes but not the smile,
When he leads you down the aisle”.
Those words were worth their weight in gold,
Smooth to the touch but mighty cold.
It sent a shiver down my spine,
Even though all appeared fine.
His smile was pure but not his eyes,
They whispered I should compromise,
Our futures would never align.
In response to Ronovan Writes’ Décima Challenge #56 found here