Her scarlet nails

against the morning sun

are hailing a taxi.

A small suitcase at her foot,

she fastens the knot of her trench coat.

The yellow cab parallels her with a commotion.

Dry leaves on the pavement skitter in the distraction.

Her lips utter a deep sigh.

“To xxx, please.”

Somewhere only she knows.


12 thoughts on “Secret

    • You are absolutely correct! I wrote about NYC, although I have never been there… although we have yellow cabs here in LA 🙂 Thank you for stopping by and leaving a comment. Hope to “see” you again.

  1. ci sono unghie di stelle che graffiano l’aurora, lasciando sangue rosso nelle nuvole

    ( perfetto un autore non deve mai spigare il suo testo, Poesia è guardare con i tuoi occhi l’anima di chi scrive) 🙂

    There are star nails scratching the aurora, leaving blood red in the clouds

    (perfect an author should never explain his text, poetry is looking with your eyes the soul of the writer):-)

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