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 708 times
Written on 2006-05-30 at 16:37
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Zoya Zaidi |
