The London Hours, 2012

Standard

*
it is so, i can’t stand
too many voices, fuzzies,
not a sound here
.
a lot of smiling men
girls wearing odd clothes
she by my side too long
her harm gripping mine
.
i tried to evade the hour
fixing images and lines
tall shoes and red net socks
.
soft the line from the armpit
to the heart as a finger lingers
breath held behind lips
.
he told me he cooked
a whole pig in his house
that once was a butcher’s shop
loosing all chances with me
.
other eyes were piercing
but none had the smiles
i gathered while walking
along i could have responded
.
a drink out late at night
not an hotel bar among
bored suits and minds set
on money work careers
.
too many doors and long corridors
lots of floors to step onto
knock softly and see who responds
maybe a flickering eye
.
boldness is rare to find
so is sweetness
.

.

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