London Poem: Day 318

1 July

The swallow in flight turning
In great sweeping loops,
Like the long and lazy slope
Of a cursive hand, as the day
Sways with everything tangled together.
Drinking wine, languid and tired,
We move to see the world and her
Sweeping hands.
This is happiness wrapped in the
Gentle flight of an easy
Sweeping bird.

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Published by

keelancrampsey

In flux

One thought on “London Poem: Day 318”

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