A male figure praying

That night
She seemed
To be everywhere –
In the poetry
That streamed
From his soul
To the nib of the pen,
In every word
Within the crumbled papers
Strewn all over the floor,
In the mellifluous music
That wafted
Through the air,
In the steaming coffees,
He sipped
Every now and then.
She even left
Pieces of her
In the spaces
Between each second,
In the halo
Around the moon,
In the stars
Dissipated in the sky,
In the droplets of rain
Splashing against
The rusty windows,
In the fragrance
Of the fresh blooms
Outside.
And that night
She seemed
To be everywhere-
Everywhere except
Of his heart.

-Miss Misfit-