
The Murmur
What was it?
Not as clean as the glass,
but the voice that fogged it.
So gauzy I failed to catch her murmur beneath the sweep I no longer possessed,
worn threadbare by years of revelry.
I clocked it only
by the contour of passing lips,
surely saying a thing or two,
of the balminess out on the street.
But it was alright.
I didn't even grab my coat.