Here we sit at the nearby fireplace.
Warming ourselves and with two or more rapid stories.
Our figures of speech and idiomatic expressions are random.
We hire the crickets to break our noise late at night.
Suspicious, our discreet dilemma is invincible.
Not bothered, not worried, not scared.
The hours begin to get bland.
One by one, our strengths intimately resigning.
The moon lures our eyes to slumber.
We can’t compromise, we can’t fall.
Awake we are until the turn of daylight.
Our mouths are dry like the drought in Sahara.
Craving for water, craving for rest.
We are not forgiven by our excuses.



About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
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