High Tide

In the mornings she was calm --
all cold and distant and stagnant.
Her face, as indifferent as a wall,
and she did not seem to realize
how beautiful and desirable she was
as the sunlight played tricks on her hair.
The rising sun, it seemed,
sent all the beams it had
to that dark brown mess --
jealous of the beauty more alluding than itself.

However, as the sun said goodbye,
leaving its place to the dim moon,
she rose.
And with every step sun took down,
she swelled:
bigger and bigger and bigger;
until there was none
but her own.

Now came the night
and now came her smile
and only now
her brown eyes twinkled and
sprinkled light around.
Yet, the indifference was still there.
And she damn well made sure
that she was there before you,
and will be after you.