This is a kitbag,a worn bugout — a hold-all of old thoughts.
24 hours,dressed in diaphanous delight;melodious movements,revealing.
There’s a place where I’d be,and sometimes, you.
The rain sleets and the viewis a masterpiece of pummeling;
Acquainted, am I,with captivation — the shadow and soundsof the evening’s darkening,
Love’s illusion drawsa shameless attraction —
Coin a conversationand the day may seem brighter,the evening warmer still,bare-shouldered to the witand press
Procrastinate, and a fuguewill decay into a carrion.
