Yew Nork

The click of heels and the shuffle of feet
Mark the bustle of an impatient day
Through the soft strum of a prominent beat.

Sour trash and fruit rot in merciless heat
While scents of honeyed tulips waft astray;
Mingled in smoke from stained lips in back seats.

Clammy hands make use of sweaty retreats
To the safety of pockets kept at bay
From buoyant passersby anxious to meet.

Mouths hide the hushed murmurs of the discrete
That speak of the games secret lovers play
In the perplexing world of the elite.

Bitter tastes crave the release of a treat
Of sensuous smells so merrily gay
That they beg turned buds for a bite to eat.

Behind grand towers the city does cheat,
In masking hidden ruins of the fray.
Yet your melancholic lull does secrete
That tunes of a unified world are sweet.

Rachel Jurek '15