archway
black.
people stick out like specs of dust on my turtleneck jumper
every time i think i’m acquainted with london, he casts another towering arch
upon me.
drink? yes. friends? we’ll see.
a cherub face but also old. i know what she’ll look like when she’s 50.
funny how sometimes you can see into someone’s future and yet know virtually nothing about them now
bubbling thoughts i cast aside, letting them float like a buoy ebbing to the shore
but not quite close enough to imprint on the sand
i want you to you see me.
a cigarette hanging from my lip, like james dean but i am a rebel with a cause.
a desire, an urge to feel alive
to strut.
i can feel this fantasy float around in my throbbing brain, and your upbeat jig is the only scenery to distract me.
