Words are not love

chaos of colour

Words are not love
just as leaves
are not autumn

dismissive gestures
and empty smiles
as the questions
tumble one by one

between your world
and my world
there is a world
of a difference

I too have crossed
Brooklyn Bridge
in the blazing heat
of a distant summer

dust upon my shoes
and city grime
etched into my collar

you were a shape once
you were a sense
you were a direction
full of promise

now nothing but words
sounds corralled
into a meaningless grid
of petrified ambition

John Lyons

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