come'n out...sing a pillion song...

what's the point in sitting cuddled up?
while outside...the winter evening is writing a draft
of a long chilly cozy story so warm...

yes! by the fire faces burn
and hands stretched on the yellow red
flames caused by gallons of hearts...
bottles from which the youth of time takes a swig...
shadows eerie sketching cartoons wide and big...
and haven't you so far seen?
how vapour rise to paint fog on screen
of the cars plying fast jumping lights?
how she held the arms of her wight tight-
as they haply cross the road to reach the opposite side
where a vendor selling steamy momos draws crowd so bright
under the corporation trident installation...

why cuddle up when the city is on the motion?
come'n out! enjoy the chill
let's whizz up the air with a thrill
of cold cutting into our bones...
of visors getting a smoggy tone...
of heat of petrol turning into fumes...
of singing pillion a highway tune...

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