sitting on an archaic wooden chair that warm evocative afternoon,
while she was resting on a couch, only few yards away from me,
at the same veranda facing the bougainvillea shrubs of south..
sun wasn’t till then so lethargic, radiating the crimson golden rays,
those fondling her hanging locks and igniting my envious self..
Alas! that script was unworthy of staging for a real show..