Red like blood was Kali’s hair, tight with ribbon, a floundering flood of fire and flair. Her complexion, was as rose, visage glowing, bright and faultless, in her own perfection. She blinked, and I marvelled, but was unable, much like the Spaniard Alvaro, to conceive how so much mildness, and ingenuousness, could be united with the lively vivacity that flashed from her eyes. A great haze filled the day, yet there was saunter to Kali’s step, almost a skip, as she tapped the pave in her pretty pink weave. The afternoon proved hot; no chance of rain late in the eve. Rough and brazen the sun harshly beat, but emerald eyes gladly braved the heat.
I confess I enjoyed the view, drawing back blind to rivet. Alas, a lover, she wasn’t mine, for me to lust or covet. She turned then to the window, and worriedly I shrunk, yet her eyes were not for me, but some privileged pompous punk. Whatever could I be for her, but a beggar or a drunk? But then again, she is flesh and blood, she is free and belongs to none. Our souls together would be poetry, so perhaps I am the one? I realised then, she could not be owned, this I rightly understood. Not framed or tamed, at the zoo or on display or, she wasn’t simply property, no, that would not be good. But my dreams, it seemed were unconquerable, I longed to taste her fruit. So that detectives, is why I did it, that’s why I killed the brute.