Thursday, March 27, 2025

First draft of poem

 Black streets, slick and gleaming,

neon signs, a blurred, wet dream.
Rain drums a rhythm, on the glass,
tires hiss, as shadows pass.
Streetlights halo, in the haze,
a lonely hum, in the city's maze.
Reflections waver, a distorted view,
of a world, washed clean and new.

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