Cars full of metallic resolve

with parallel columns of hope

slice the darkness of the road

into imperceptible geometric fragments.

Pieces of blackness, chopped off

from the deep starless sky aimlessly, yet

menacingly, travel towards my windshield

made of wet autumn leaves, they stick on the glass.

The black gloom which I leave behind

is waiting for the glistening reflection

from a pair of loving, caring eyes

for the magical sparkle of what was,

what is, and will always be,

the search for true love …

the glow of red taillights.

Kevork K. Kalayjian


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