Nights of satin loss

Nights when chase is a must
– void sampled by rabbits –
and the moon
is all you can ask for,
it is then I demands
all of attention.

A roller coaster tale,
an old women's yarn,
– a mad dinner at midnight –
is all any receiver
can hope to assemble.

Water of another body
flows in the trenches of yesterday,
shimmers and fades
behind wine and a spring
so sudden and yet so constant.




Poetry by Bob
Read 494 times
Written on 2011-04-20 at 22:34

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