Come with me to find a place
Where days approach like tides
In slow, expected swells
Of pale and iridescent turn,
Where oceans up above us
Stretch and whitecaps cresting
Break and shed a mist of petrichor
To scent a slate horizon with magenta
Hues and then evaporate
To leave the skyline bleeding,
Where fields speak of moments
Well-disposed with whisper-quiet
Folds of grass from breezes whose
Confessions tread through lees
And landscapes asking for
A pardon from the harder
Work the evenings make.

Find with me a better picture
Of the instant trapped before
The one just now, an image
In a canvas drawn across the
Ceiling where the whisps of
White are pearls-strings threaded
Through a pool so clear the stars
Can watch our pupils grow as
Purple overtakes the blue and
Slowly inks the rooftops black.

Paint me with the pallete
Of a river through a mountain
Range whose currents touch
The lakes and streams and tint
The morning fog with bits
Of cliffs they’ve cut,
For I’ve had too long
The ashen tone of
Air too overcast with
Clouds whose burdens
Seep as tears reflecting
Vestiges of sorrows left
In days when all I saw
Was black and white.

#London #UK

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