By John Grey 

The moon is full.
The wind is dying.
The shoreline celebrates lovers.
In high-rises,
in riverside mansions,
wealth and business are put to sleep.
Emotional owls hoot softly
to one another.
They trust each other’s hands.
And the lapping water besides.
Something solemn or stately
in how the world turns
in undermined by the warm blush of touch.
The city’s markers ripple away
and bright faces take to the river’s surface.
We’re two people,
disarmed but not out of line.
A kiss is sudden glory.
A hug is the latest incident of love.


Published on November 1st, 2022




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