Poetry Chamber


Danger. That’s all she sees in his dark chocolate eyes, yet she always comes back for more.

He stares like she’s the only one in the crowd-clogged room.

She leans her leg against the wall, she knows the score.

But maybe she’s sick of laughing at jokes that aren’t funny? Or tasting the weak tinge of weed in his mouth.


Afterwards he slips away, but she doesn’t even care.

Care. What is that word? Hudson Taylor speak up now. Please?

It’s not like they’ll get married. Marry? Him? Never. Marry? Ever?

But it’s all so blurred.


Right and Wrong used to be so clear, frozen in her mind.


Faces from the past flick through the pages of the night, dreams and reality mesmerise her days.

Cute. Nice. Pretty. Pathetic adjectives. Please.

Call her brilliant any day. Because that’s what she is.


He’s back again asking her to go home with him, back to his grumbling “gaff”.

His molten-mousse eyes make every effort to entrance her cobalt ones, but to no avail.

“No, no, no” are murmured numerous times.

He walks off. She stands amongst the beaming lights and teeming drunks.


Lone dancer. Brilliant.