when evening comes

,
and the day’s all wrung
out, small and silent – buzzing
sunset burned to cricket song,

I’m lost in the long
…………..(shadow)
-gone ghost of you,
and the sky’s too small
for such an intricate heart.

 

..
In April, we poem. And sometimes, we catch up. 

 

 

 

 

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3 Responses to when evening comes

  1. qbit says:

    buzzing
    sunset burned to cricket song,

    – oh damn that is good!!!

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