Thoughts in a back-alley 

She reaches in the early folds of Autumn, 

With her spindly, searching fingers.

Holding hands, silent in the darkness, 

Knitting ivy around us. 

Yellow flickering streetlamps casting shadows across your skin

Gleaming brown eyes illuminated and then dimmed 

Your room can only hold you

Illuminated rain shone yellow outside, 

Your mottled face stained grey with surprise, 

In your room, a haze of us and of sweat, 

Fizzing with the burnouts of promises unkept. 

 

In tangled sheets, listening to you sleep, 

Wandering mind and thoughts that I’m not yet ready to keep, 

I have to get the train home soon,

And you feel miles away to the messy comfort of my room.

Dylan’s words

Thank you for holding me whilst I cry

Thank you for caressing my face with gentle worlds, 

Your melodies floating in and out my sleeping mind,

like the silvery mist of autumn curling around the daisy leftover from spring. 

I’ll break like a woman, cry like a woman, and I’ll like it.