Harmony prose poem

Photo by photophilde

We walked, twinkle-toed, through the night’s hush
A ‘Sherlock Holmes’ deerstalker capping my skull
And the red Che-star on your beret (left of centre);

Hand in hand
Finger looped to finger
Palms sweating,
Lips twinging from a freshly chiselled kiss
Hopping o’er garbage, heady streams of urine,
A scrounger coiled under his sheets or perhaps just
A stiff tumour of concrete on the walkway;

Our hearts inching to the euphoric haze
On the edge of the pier of the final port
From whence select souls were trafficked to harmony;
Suddenly a shriek from a railway engine
Rose like a serpent’s curiosity from below the overpass,
Releasing the night’s taut terror;
You peered through the dark in my eye,
I into yours.
You looked as if my deerstalker was an ambush
I imagined your red Che-star (left of centre)
That seconds before shone like a bead of blood
An elegant snare;
All drawn up merely to sell out our flight to harmony
Which is the only ‘where’ we thought we’re headed for.

Dear angels, this went on through centuries
Indefatigably, chasing all kisses, scratches, bites, bruises, coitions…
We slugged our delicately primed potion –
We silently waited to be trafficked to harmony.

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