Clarice

Who’s your next mate, my lover asks me, I shudder at empty space, I’m sat here thinking, can’t you see , the trace of my feeling, makes my thoughts not great, at such infidelity, but I dance away again, freedom is not for shrinkers, or those who wannabe, gazing down some river, what I have to explain, is to let her know subtly, the sky has changed, see those who are burning, I point along the beach, they are not for turning, 'You' she screeches.