Wednesday, July 12, 2006

These July nights
when writers meet
in cafes, on Tuesdays,
when the sky
rightfully refuses to shed
it’s well deserved garments
of slow fade light,
from loud lemon to summery tangerine,
delicately like silk slipping
off the lover’s tender thigh.
The gathered muses dissolve
like liquid ghosts
into black ink directions,
down white paper highways.


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