Ink in the evening sky

[Hannibal]

The words flowed in a form unlike that of water,
Trembling inside of me, hidden away.
Not wanting to make an appearance,
Sliding quietly behind the shadows of myself.

I saw your eyes lit up,
someone had drawn on them with a red pen,
and a shaky hand.

My tongue shook with mockery of your pain,
delight in your anguish,
yet my voice fell silent with a hush.
My eyes had yet to be tainted by red ink.
I saw clearly.

Everything was lines, crisp and cool,
the night air flowed in circles at my feet,
wet with experience.
Cold pavement, moist skin.
Shivers.

Heartless grasp on reality,
quick tongue, quiet thoughts.
Silent agony, slow anguish.
I had to walk away.

[La Luna Unita]

First line doesn't grab me:

The words flowed in a form unlike that of water

<font size="2" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">reason being that they don't evoke any image for me at all, rather just the absence of one. If the words did not flow like water, what were they like? Jello? Tigers? Concrete? It picks up with their hiding in shadows, though, as though they have life of their own.

I really love

the night air flowed in circles at my feet,

<font size="2" face="Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif">That's just lovely.