at 3.am the news wades
on the white Calla- lily porch
each held breath prays
probing for the serenity
of the things that yesterday cannot change.

the opulent ivory door laments
for the two pulsating hearts
denying rational thoughts
as silence slays the hope
of going back to sleep whole.

no longer wading
its presence satiates the room
and consciously it slices the truth
leaving scratches on the marble tops
with residues of tea in the porcelain cups