as the sun
arcs
its way across
the remnants
of a once blue
sky
he sits at
the table
in the kitchen
wondering
where the lovers
have all gone
where the dreams
have all hidden
where the days have all
travelled,
you know, he
thinks to himself,
like this one,
as the sun suicides
itself behind
yet another
indigo horizon.
No comments:
Post a Comment