Tuesday 12 November 2019

city east writing retreat #3

my first word was a drum
i am percussion steady
even when the pit is empty 
and the house lights are up
and the velvet curtain is dropped
scarlet upon a dusty stage
strewn with forgotten bouquets
we are alone in the wings

'...every moment we could snatch
i don't know why I got so attached...'
our regret is louder even
than a standing ovation
take me backstage again

and let's make the same mistake
once more for luck

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