Contours
Sometimes when the night
crawls upon me
I go out
to look at the people
who's faces have
slipped out
of their contours
slid down
to rest
on collars
features
dripping down
on the
ash grey asphalt
and
under lonely lampposts
everything
fades
into puddles.
© Gry W Christensen
Copyright © Gry Christensen | Year Posted 2014
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