Crisp white cuffs
binding wrists so firm
fingers tainted
stained and painted
by such treacherous dye

The sky was but a painted one
The clouds were but a mirage
It was fulfilling

In a glance
it was breathtaking

In a thought
it was enough

Crisp white cuffs
came loose alas
though sheets of ink
were no less constraining

Akin to fate

A choice was taken
A voice was spoken
A seal,

“What a blessing”
“What a sight to see”
“Although from afar,
stills feels close to me”