The afternoon has finished waiting; it’s turning off the light
from Tower Bridge to Sidcup, and the last glimmers catch you
dark on my pillow, lost in a land of angel’s causeways, playing
hide and seek with images of the night.
There’s no sunset today, only grey sleet on winter rooftops,
the birds have finished singing and the wind captured a last leaf
to catapult it downwards. South London bickers like a third world country
we gather disapproving glances & out hearts pitter patter in tune with the rain.
The New Year is slowly dumbing down its face & in your wild stolen places
you play with unborn children that turn to taunt us. We are caught in the crossfire of years,
the tension of different rhythms,but our blood makes the same spiral circles,
& our DNA holds hands with the future, in imaginary spaces where dreams meet.
One thought on “Where dreams meet …”
I especially like the last line “& our DNA holds hands with the future, in imaginary spaces where dreams meet.” Good write, Victoria.
Love is the only thing. All else is unimportant or is just details, James