Look At Those Two

On the tightrope

Between
Almost beautiful

And
Gently desperate,

Rambling
Down cobbled streets,

Summoning
Stories from the gutters,

Buffing them up
Without stutters

And whispering songs
Under lamplights.

Their night
Could crumble in seconds

One mumble
Or peck
Badly beckoned,

But I reckon
These two

Know that’s a truth
They’ll keep hidden,

Forbidden
Like their soft,
Spent routines,

Or a scene
From an old
New Year’s dream

Badly written.

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