Rush hour madness

it lingers in aching disposition
your smell
that feel

clovers and sunlit meadows
gentle breezes over
melted sorrows
tremors fleeting over
quick step, wine, dine
and shadowed embraces.

it ends all too quick
like frenzied ants marching
over side sloped hills
and planets spin wildly
out of axis,
and the world is
rush hour madness.

and you are
cracking mortar
and i am,
hollowed.

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