Old Fashioned

Pretence at a marble topped temple.

Surety of a citrus covered habit.

An unessential burn of people.

Welcomed smiles and a nervousness of

What if.

What if it burns my eyes 

And grows my bed

Until the other side is lost

To the fuller.

Why do I know them 

But I feel like a stranger

As strange as the blur of a ‘good night’ spent.

And a knowing

A certainty

That is astronomical and aware of itself,

Where I will never be.

Published by Lilymaeportman

I'm Lily, an actor, writer & voice over artist.

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