Thursday, July 7, 2011

The morning-night paradox

The morning whiff of after shave on his face
The night that lingers as she can still taste
His knotted tie in its place
Her hair a tangled mess
His naughty eyes unfazed
sliding slowly out of her embrace
Him saying goodbye nice and slow
Her delaying not ready to let go
Two hearts one soul in the night
can belong to two strangers in the morning light.

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