London Poem: Day 115

10 December

The room fills slowly
People standing in broken
Circles as hot hair fills
The leftover spaces.
It begins with false climaxes –
Building and bursting
Before anything begins.
As we sit and watch,
And words slip into the
Receding conversations,
We grow.
Soft hand in soft hand
Words spilling over the top,
we bend to fit.
After the drama, I stand,
Looking into your eyes,
The words come and
I move towards the world
I want, through the eyes
That make up the world I want.

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In flux

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