We make love in the darkened bedroom
as the sound of a faraway train whistle
leaks through the open window,
a random chord from a broken night
that seeps into our lives
like a scream inside a cave
Screeching tires from teenage rust heap cars
and the distant rumble of trucks
hum like a low, incessant soundtrack
wherever there is an open window and a quest for sleep
and the wind paints portraits
of the city’s heavy breathing
As usual an interesting choice of analogies and metaphors, even constructive. But I didn't have to wait long to be confused by line one and "a quest for sleep".
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