Sloane Street

River sends brown eddies over traffic noises and the hum of London,

the moon so white and obsolete, it hangs like a charm on the bracelet of your heart;  but you just don’t see,

the breeze through the leaves finger my hair, the music in between, this urge to lie down with you.

It happened somewhere between crossing the road and a glimpse of pink shirt,

So sad tonight, my lover’s taken leave and the moon hangs in the sky obsolete.

I want to call you other names, hidden names as though we’ve passed and re passed, memories piecing us together.

I’m not so sure; I just don’t know what to make of this.

Traffic hums and you’re reading old tunes of mine, stapled between pages of stolen hearts and broken dreams.

My last lost lover left me an email today, said there was some other woman he had to try on for size, like a new coat and I’m lying here wondering if she fits, wondering if he says the same things, as he falls into her.

The moon laughs at me; the way I always throw it all away, like an unwished gift, like a baby’s kiss, like a new morning,

but tonight, I wanted to forget about all of this; lie with you a while, see if kisses float and mermaids sing to us in dreams,


see if it’s more than a memory.


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