The First Of March

I
crave the sweet
nothings of your
sound symbols,

falling
straight at the
core of your
tremendous hue.

I
feast with the
drone of felicity.
Battle against the
sordid phenomenon.

The
lonely dreamer
has rested his head
on the many moons
of his vast skies.

 

2017

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About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
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