The City Sleeps

Whilst the city sleeps, 

ours is the night. 

Before birds wake, 

and dawn breaks the dream.

Talisman in hand;

dust in pockets,

on feet worn out shoes,

I will be back. 

To half conversations,

and befriending butterflies.

Picking torn flowers,

and searching for stars.

Safe behind walls,

were the silence guards.

Snow on shoulders,

with fire for tongue. 

Blazing the glance,

from eyes deep as mine.

Holding old dreams,

making space for new. 

Talisman in hand;

dust in pockets,

on feet worn out shoes

I will be back. 

And I’m back. 

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