She will donn the black,
bending at the narrow breach of froth, trying to make peace with all the night and into more of the moon, shaded by drenching streetlights, beyond the grasp of the level, full of beer for all, for just the one, staring at chalk, percentage of the many looking back at Sonia. Next down the block, the wooden bar talks to her, shoulders a smile drawn before the stillness of a simple shirt, worn for a customary look into the embrace of dreams, of fog blending into this one chance to remember - weird how it dances before her breath - all together Sonia knows, remembers the story, resting with her in a shadow. What she knows, menus and flavors of the dance floor, Bohemia, Backstreet, boys she knew, boys she knows, in synch with German descent, far from the bar on the corner, street lights shine as the curb appeal knows no bounds, but nicely stays wet for gardens, brews finished for a full moon, unguarded, undressed, she follows as night covers her, dreams until dawn. © 2016 Larry Ingram
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Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture. Categories
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