In such a forced game of Tetris-
coming across those who block progress;
the hostility, in the sweats of labour mopped
up, by the heat escaping most of your pores

cupped lips, just for a little fill of a loving
kiss- the material of body language with a
string of words- long enough to reach the
****** of any conversation

Expression doesn’t exist much from a stranger’s
lips; lest you know their face with a sight of
good will. But I must be far short of the sun,
to give such a bright smile as a comforting
response- a single moon under its loon

of a man hiding away in these shadows