Every tumbler drops free as the key turns and unlocks me.

through narrow alleyways
down along the market and into the barrow bays where rotting waste plays out the scene.

The confidence of affluence?

I stray into a no man's land of fine lace and perfume and the touch of a gentle hand.
Secrets they tell me
unfold,
but only the foolish or the brave and the bold dare to look.

I write in this diary of things that can fire me up and outshine the brightest of days,
a book if you will is but the taper or spill to ignite,
I write.