Sunday, 10 October 2010

Drunken screed #1.

Drunk love:
cigarettes down the drain
(filters, at least);
confused eyes -
hateful to the inebriated brain.

I wish for a smile.
I await their return
like a pensive victim
of Dracula
(appropriate literary reference,
plus life-time element).

Thom Yorke cries:
so do I.
Wavelengths pass each other;
eyes mould into the distance.

Your name burns in my throat:
the taste of you so sweet.
You are a new bird
and the rest is blurred
until I see you again.
Night, night.

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