Yours

This day,

morning,

is still dark with Autumn.

The salt white streetlights still burn.

I can hear the song that this city sings daily

just tuning up.

Cars and buses that will take a population to do,

what populations do,

each day.

White collared boys and blue stockinged girls.

City,

pull me into you.

But first,

caffeinate me.

Wednesday,

I'm

yours