Senses

Everybody is busy trying
To shut out the night
Flooding their senses
Images, visages, fighting off demons…
Even of their own making…
Perhaps.
Or flying in from the universe
Preying on the innocent…
They know not…
Or do… they?
Flitting about,
Like gold-winged bats.
Noted spiraling down.
Blue sky,  cotton-ball clouds,
Flute, violin,  bass, play them for me now.
Lost in your constant high,
Strum me like a lute.
I respond only to you.
Heavenly tune,
You’re overdue.

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