Thursday, 27 July 2017

Adolescence senescent


The old songs plait the glances,
backward at childhood,
forward to teens in quicksand.
Where no one has gone before,
or so lies the music.

The ghost train's slamming doors.
Belonging, on the back seat of the bus.
Bright tears, drying on lace-wings.
Cooing boys blaze in bravado,
turning the girls chat inward.
Loud the boys don't care ~ hmph!
We are on our way somewhere ~ so there!
Where're we going then, like?

An eye to eye smile is drawn thinner
and thinner, across the coy girl/boy thing,
as their hearts in a crush are smelting,
the flushed infusion resists.

A kiss spins around and walks away.

That rush of slow emotion,
the magic alchemy is turning 
led astray into here to stay,
coupled golden in your arms.
The rest is a blur.

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