Hunt
On the heel of a shiny brown shoe an old cane and a young one tap quickly, rubber-knee deep in earlier rain.
Bedizened in filthy blue the alley keeps their echo to herself lest the cold, hollow, metallic code deciphers an open invitation upon reply
for the ear that’s never been whispered to will instantly remix her rude mono into a wishful stereo sigh
Fascinating. I don’t quite get it, but I’m not on the same plain of thought and existance as you. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Bedizened. I love that word.
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