the after night

In the wake of here presence
the night air sang,
the evening breeze cuddled,
the moon whispered her name,
the streets spelt her words,
the sun called out to her,
my footstep drummed her heartbeat,
the night air smelt of her,
the roaring cars called for her,
the sleeping birds dreamt of her,
the empty streets waited for her,
the crowded pubs praised her.

And the random man,
standing under the singing light
of the dancing bus stop,
paying no particular attention
to the colour in the wind,
the spring in my step,
the dance in my voice,
or the glitter that littered my steps,
worshipped her.

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