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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