Clean Lines

I see our ghosts here
Standing under the cavernous ceiling of this huge room
Brown wood
That’s the spot, right there
Your piercing eyes, sweat, swirling spiral stairs
Your breath; you smelt of something for just one flash
She’s going to fall, it looks precarious there
Grabbed arse, not mine for a change
I guess not all girls like you are immune
It came back to me
It comes back to me
Ashen butterflies launch into my throat
You were taller than the crowd that night
Your eyes pleading telling me no, please understand, I don’t, I can’t
Blinded by the chorus, the sea, the light of you
On the stage
Two fingers held up in a cross
Stop right there
You smell of nothing
I’ve been in your bed
Without you

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