Friday, October 27, 2017

A Song 179




Evenings,
sun crawls down backs
of high rises;
sips a chilled coke.
on the way,
moon, in an escalator,
on duty.
Mornings,
moon slides down
mobile towers,
at ease with steamy, chais;
Sun, fresh, takes an ontime
flight,
describing 24 hours in
Eternity.


    

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