red-headed pub girl.

Day
gray

and green

cracking

through the window,

dips its fingers

into my tired pint,

and trips

over the rifts

in my hand’s

skin.
Across

the alley

of crumbs,

cinder

and coffee spills

(some yet

still breathing!),

like the white

temple Athens

shout out-loud

into the skies,

a girl

sows
words

in the pages

of a notebook,
an everlasting

dawn chalked

in her

hair…

Red with a scent

of gold.
She plows

and sows

and then watches

them grow.
The dust

on the shelf

above looks

down upon

like the stars

over the manger,

shadows
of empty bottles

crown

her pretty
to me.
Across the alley

of crumbs, cinder

and coffee spills,

a girl sows

her stare

along the inroads

of my own.
Without a move

or even a head turn,

she storms

my eyes,

takes over castles

and lands

and with her bombs

shiver

goose-bumps

on my skin

—where tickles
are born.
Without a move

she steers

me into a sunshine

walk.
Day is gone now,

drowned in my tired pint,

I guess.

Its grasp

unclenched from my hand,
now.
Across the alley of crumbs,

cinder

and coffee spills,

a girl sows

her stare

along the inroads

of my own.
Day

is gone now,

an everrusting

dawn

encrusted in her hair…

Red
with a scent

of

gold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

______________

f6c4382e887211e192e91231381b3d7a_7

Photo: CHATTY OWL ~ http://chattyowl.com/

 

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