Thursday, 7 April 2011

To write, is all.

I soften your voice whilst you punch my knee,
not a good shot
you strike my heart.

We take one another to the cleaners
dirty duvet mouth
what was that you said last night?
Wash it out
once and all.

I fast forward to the evening
carrying tense shoulders
and two verses you wrote out on a
napkin from two leaven years passed.

Piano key cry baby

I am trembling
around a dance floor
without a soul against me
or a drink down.

If I shut my eyes the night
grows a glowing balloon
I can cling along to
on a sole path home.

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