Late afternoon bribes me
with scents of honeysuckle.
Whispers whimper whimsically
through silky spikes
and fulgent foliage.
Yet time
doesn't love day games enough
to lecture me lies.
Summer serenades
- of birds and bugs -
implicate the impregnation
of night.
Patiently,
I wait...
And then,
dusk cracks open.








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44 old applause
