the constant motions of revelries

we fix the curly crusts
of the milky way.
the dust on your
hair looks like the silver
haze of my autumn morning.

we wander far from all
darkest evenings, and at a
lone distance are our shadows
prancing until the daylight.

we glamour for smooth touches.
our hands speak a monotony
of madness that only the
brisk hours can understand.

don’t we breathe their cruelty?
some of the things we remember
are the constant motions of revelries.



About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
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