Poetry on the 18.13 BRM to LDN

On Thursday you filled my numb mouth with kisses while the sky burnt blue. I slept, lucid

As you cradled my waist at the base neocortex

Wide lip rough with silence

but even here

where I pull the strings to make dreams dance

you never said you loved me

Did you dream the same in some Grecian manner, a message from Morpheus or reluctant Freud

Did you kiss these lips that never met yours

In the white hot parlour with the burnt blue sky

Written by

24 year old with an awful lot to say about everything. Opinions entirely my own. Usually. madelaine@madelainehanson.co.uk

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