"This melancholy London - I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air. - W. B. Yeats

Friday, September 24, 2010

What Would I Give

Tonight

Which is

Rapidly becoming

This morning

(another sleepless night)

I would give

My favorite pair of shoes-

The red pumps with the brass buttons-

To be next to you

Four drinks in

Fingers interlaced

Saying nothing

And knowing that I don’t have to say anything at all.

Feeling just the bit of sweat

Coming off your arm

Catching in the hairs.

Staring at the fucking white ceiling.

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