The tree branches hang a little wider,
A Little lower,
The sky above has same color,
All same stars and constellations,

Ten o’clock,
The bridge squeaks in some distance,
Following a siren to split,
While moon remains predictable as ever,
Beaming as, is in love this time,
Like her eyes,
When she paused to look at him every time,
Her face a hint of fumeless coal in a cruel winter,
Emitting affection;

Ten o’clock,
His hands tucked in pockets,
His eyes like twin planets: slowly dying,
His muscles preserve her, scattered upon him,
His heart beating little low, oh,
But full of love intact;

Ten o’clock,
A shade of whitewash radiate on his temples,
A different frame on his eyes though,
That little mole on his bridge exists,
She’ll be here he knows,
At Ten o’clock, any day;
For she said in 2010,
Before the line broke,
He couldn’t know ‘when’,
But at Ten,
The Ten o’clock,

Image Artist: Jhonny53

- Jhonny53 @ Deviantart.com
– Jhonny53 @ Deviantart

9 thoughts on “TEN O’CLOCK

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