Tell-Tale

The Portrait

(Early summer. A park. Around midnight.)

The night is pitch black — but a red glimmer

a coma,

or a faint star

The wind rumples the atmosphere rustling

the young ginkgo leaves in a see(sea)saw motion

Suddenly the clouds tear apart; the round moon beams, and the leaves

briefly appear like silver spume

The bridge of a nose, then a flicker of movement, perhaps an eyelash that fluttered —

and the cigarette's smoke that rises

               a

                                translucent

                                                                                        volute

The clouds pull over the moon, and it is pitch black

                          Again

*

(Kim Namjoon's POV)

I witnessed his rare, his nude essence; because it was a man, a seaman or

a merman, who comes upon land every night of full moon

and this very night, though hidden, the moon is in full bloom.

The instantaneous portrait begins to act upon my imagination.

I stand, in spite of the late hour, in hope to catch sight of him again. However, the red glimmer has vanished. Nothing punctuated the night anymore.

I ache to compose now — I ache to capture him, tonight

I run home, and I forget the groceries I had bought a short while ago.