Street walkers dream
[something beautiful is burning lowbeneath my shivering hands
unconscious, confused,
totally perplexed]
Go home,
darling,
go home
Their steps are deadly pale,
lights are broken and voices
- is promises of secrecy,
sickening.
As filthy grey shades from the street lamps.
Their eyes are flickering
as loathsome humanity
breathe in their last
- savageness.
The snow is already dead on bituminous pitch streets.
Come home,
darling,
come home.
Poetry by theo
Read 661 times
Written on 2006-05-30 at 16:37
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Zoya Zaidi |
