THE DIAL

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I and her dial in a song
as a horse in its pace, gallops
by the twig
and the other’s nodded sway.

I just swiped my eyes over her
or let’s say
I enclosed her by these very eyes,
not because
I choose the humane ignoring
but for the fact
I like ‘us’ to flow in secret.

The little child in torn bottoms
returns the penny of smile,
watching me wheel past,
as he is too proud to accept mine.

I do realise
He returned none but her.

Her ammoed hands
presenting hours called muses
everytime, I draw mine
closer.

It’s only when I see the foggy mist
during the union at lunar twelve
and a dragonfly kissing headlights
till the next.

I realise the average hour;
The day.

It’s you.

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