burnt (at both ends).

A song

away from town

the setting sun

has forgotten

about us,
tastes yellow

and soon turns

to a willow

tree.
I can

hear the drizzle

of the last

rays flare

out from the sea
and sting

the tin
roof where

my thoughts

are out on their

own.
A song

away from town,
I can smell

the moon’s

fresh bosom,
as it pearls

the sky

with night sweat,
shatter and swell,
but a song

away from town.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_________________

22882550_531844833823467_1622600441_o

Photo : Doreen Dee

 

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