Thursday 4 June 2020

cold city

sun touches the earth
the line becomes more
and more defined

a firmness in your belly
metallic taste on your tongue

little moons
running wide orbits 
circling you

the sun cool the ice
burning hot

the kids
sweeping up
after you

not everyone's gonna be
what the world wants
you to be

wiping the palms
off the glass you
wait for night
to forget


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