tunes crackling

The cool breeze of getting away, leaving behind the heat confined, window down, the night sky rolling smoothly across the horizon, chased by the moon, tunes crackling as radio stations come and go. Twisting the knob to discover another run twelve redlights in our honor. No respect for authority that doesn’t first prove itself worthy of such.

Lord Malinov, Song of Songs

About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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