evaporate

“The storm doth walk the seashore humming a mournful tune”
– Emily Dickinson

darkening shadow
sits high on misting pane

his beckoning words thrumming on taut string
the tapping syllables within the tin can tring

lazy fingers soothe
a bitten round
on silken shoulder
its swell still ripe
from being plundered

among
pitted sands,
petals, dewy-sliced
lay pierced remains
of the thieving drunk

shelter hides
the sopping invitation
muting the call of lowing reverberations

eying bait dry asunder
lightning flailed
still unheeded thunder

he will await
to finally reach up and
evaporate

 
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