LITERAL
Ten p.m.
The wind pawed savagely at our pinched faces,
While stars like hearts beat a tempo,
A lullaby for the still night.
And the deep violet sky mapped for us,
Sagaciously,
Our uncertain futures,
Our diaphanous dreams.
The hazy headlights from distant cars
Heading home to warm hearths
Could not eclipse our liquid amity;
Temporal, yet tangible -
If only barely.
