Calm, Like a Sunday Evening
Sweet, quiet night
of canyons and faraway lights,
of car wakes-
the coldness of stars
(clarity and cruelty sound the same)
– their radio frequencies.
It is a night for waiting.
Dilated hours: what use is there for a will or resistance?
Float, there’s no rudder.
We do not have love,
or lips on our lips
the tension of
muscles and will..
the tenderness of skin
We sleep in lonely beds.
But, O, we have poetry
and waterlogged pages,
we dance on the tip
of fountain pens.
We skate on paired ink.
sketchbloom.com 
simply lovely
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thank you Samar Joon 🙂
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