Another of this series


Pain left. I noticed later. Moved my head
and did not wince. The denim of my sleeve
scratched pleasantly as I got up to leave
the bus. The shade of very vivid red

caught my attention like a major chord
as it drove off. Warm air plucked at my skin
tickled a bit. I couldn’t help but grin.
All colours grew so bright. Felt I had ignored

this jewelled city. Everyone I saw
was beautiful and chic, with well-groomed hair
tossed in espresso-scented breeze. So fair
evenings of early summer. When we soar

up into warmth, float down, do not retain
moments of spark, secretions in my brain.


About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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