Title: November Fifth
by thehopeavenue from Cornwall | in writing, poetry, love
I could sleep on a chickens beak
but I won't,
I'm sleeping under Orions belt
blanketed by the pitched dark of the night
protected by the North Star;
My night light.
The meandering clouds
close my tiring eyelids
as the triumphant owl cuckoos me
to slumber with its poetic lullaby,
the hum of a distant passenger jet
whispering sweet nothings into my cauliflower field ears
and I dream of November the fifth
the fireworks lighting your face
just before the last time we kissed.
Just keep on lingering
with the fluid in my skull.
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