Not that, was busy
ratcheting up the brain
looking outside the vintage glass of train
to reason your loving warmth,
but
to creep semi-consciously
into your loving gaze
the gain of twilight eyes, and
wheel my train of thoughts
pausing at every station halt
to barter my faith;
where the 'wheelers'
shake their milk on the railway platform
Time, thy udder is ever resplendent
with every pregnant moment
whether it be 'pause' or,
when the train move, to leave the station
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