London
The big smoke had always been around
Its fingers the veins running through our wrists
Bluer and firmer as we pranced across the stage like Gods
Its voice this summer was sweeter than honey
And we could resist no longer
A train
Four hours and we had escaped this place's grey-green discolouration
The sun held London as though it were his child
His heart warmed our cheeks and twinkled in the river
But stars shone in the sequins
Of the queens at the palace
Theatre
Perched, ready to laugh or cry or dance
Nestled like chicks in the velvet seats
We were home.
Copyright © Gracie Bawden | Year Posted 2011
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