Xena

Here's the question, why on the communal phone, do you only whisper, behind a crushed mesh serenade, swallow awkward notes, in crinkled paper shades, any reason you’re like this, these never imagined sweet tones, should come to this, rain dances on the parade, flush with the marked zones, colours of barred gates, you’re lonely that’s the jist, is that what love is for, smoke illicit sisters’ cigarettes, numb away the pain, say you've been honed, a lovers' voice tolls again, you smoke on your own.