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.