By Olivia Petrini
Spill it, and stare across a wine-dark sea
You, and me, in the rafters of the Old
Church, humming with weary hues and
The purple ring of this prohibited light.
We embrace on pointed toes, creaking
Heavy ones trembling in the honeyed winter night
You skim the spitting flame with icy glances,
Smile and crinkle golden foil.
You sip too quickly at the brim of the
Cut-glass gently crashing between your
Thumb and tactful finger. The dark
Wine weeping from your narrow wrists.
It’s not dawn and you’re outside in a duvet.
Soft bright ghost trailing sodden leaves
And sopping silver over
Gutters. Trampling the path to Cheam.
Blotting sleeves with bleeding mud and
Gleaming rain in thrumming white.
Put out the light!
And then put out the light!
Recall. Recast it all in pitiful bronze
Laid down, and up the swirling, steaming
Stage-light. You frighten me with your
Twitching lips and flick’ring hair.