Another of this series

DIDACTIC POEM NUMBER FOUR OF JOY

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.

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About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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