Saturday, July 04, 2015

On illusions being dangerous things - she said.


I could have been a flickering blue flame
Ebbing away through the night
An injured player on the field
Not going down without a fight
A passenger in your car
Doing the moonlight mile
A thirty-something thousand dress
Waiting to go out of style
A naïve heart, bitten twice
Yet never thrice shy
Save only when some lens removed
Looked you in the eye
It all came back, the crooked mirth
The poems and the books
A brush of finger (tips) and perfume
Some talk of being a crook.
Taken by the visions and revisions
Of time and tide within
Spending this lifetime and the next
Tucked safely under your chin.

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