Food for thought

Is it the far-off cry of a city street
that howls to the moon in a midnight hour?
Is it the content of my casting vision
that nets and hauls a detailed catch?
Or is it the tonguely echoes
that sour my breath with what’s been said?
Perhaps the sprightly scent of you, my dear,
that beckons me towards your lips
and prays a silent parting,
shall serve the purpose of my muse
and slow the heart departing.


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