Food for thought

Is it the far-off cry of a city street that howls to the moon in a midnight hour? Is it the content of my casting vision that nets and hauls a detailed catch? Or is it the tonguely echoes that sour my breath with what’s been said? Perhaps the sprightly scent of you, my dear, that beckons me towards your lips and prays a silent parting, shall serve the purpose of my muse and slow the heart departing.