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troublemag | October 21, 2019

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Occasionally

Occasionally

 

I just want to be with someone new

in a train

on a wet night

where the inside light reflects me

in a stranger’s eyes from across the isle

whose waiting aches back

from nowhere to go after everything

but steam’s old story

and shadow-an-eye hat brims;

wide-lapel fine woollen coats

unbuckled;

a single string of old-cream pearls

and a sudden face over cupped hands

lighting a Camel cigarette

on a crowd-dispersing platform

leaving you and I

saying miss you without words

in our own black and white film

then – one of us will turn walk away

fade to grey

in desperate breaths

of steam

knowing at best real romance

is a kind of sweet starvation.
 
 

Jan Price