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.
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