Cut scar tissue with a razor blade

checked it was not a dream,

the swaying was the heat not

blood in a wine glass.

A carefully selected playlist hid

behind a curtain, it wore black so

not to overshadow the blushing,

kept out of the way of those invited.

Warm sandwiches watched the

London Olympics on a tweet, gave

a cheer at two golds dipped white,

fat fingers were the only objectors.

Feet talked whilst eyes tried to

dance, kept a gaze on a vacuum

left behind – drawing in, yearning,

thank yous came with the favours.

The table and the chair were sold

to two different countries, the dish

ran away with the spoon leaving

the knife forked. The cups stayed.

The midges gathered for photos,

some left, some parted, others had

a long journey ahead. The beds ate

people and spat out figurines.

In the corner of a window sat three

magpies, one more joined them.

They stole heart shaped confetti,

the plastic dolls were stunned.

 Somehow the Moon and a lion

wound up in wrapped boxes,

the Moon roared; the lion smiled

both liked to dance in the vacuum.