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The whirring, the flash of headlights, and us

There’s something profound
about train whistles in
the dead of night;
two lonesome calls
resounding, something
as I lie next to you,
stroking your soft body
in the silence after
making love, tracing
my fingers in the shape
of petals because
your skin-when I touch it-
feels like lilies.
The rush of the wheels,
the mechanized churning,
in the distance sounds
like wind winding past the
suburban city streets.
I sigh, and you sigh too,
but I sigh because you are
beautiful, and you sigh
because you are contentedly
trying to sleep.


About S.Bevins

Poet, writer, artist and college student. Can you dig it?

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