The sun glides into taverns and
lights the tables where
there is no city or country
Only the walk and talk beside
breaking hours
Moths in steam
Vistas of power plants
you cannot clasp to your heart
The streets and the fields will stretch your hands
You want to taste gently outside the whip of sirens
Like a deer
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 9:22 AM UTC
The sun glides into taverns and
lights the tables where
there is no city or country
Only the walk and talk beside
breaking hours
Moths in steam
Vistas of power plants
you cannot clasp to your heart
The streets and the fields will stretch your hands
You want to taste gently outside the whip of sirens
Like a deer
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