I found him
Shooting up on ******, and making art with his
Blood-filled needles;
He was beautiful,

I wish I was in the midst of Albion where you roam the streets
With crumbs of rock hiding in the lining of your jacket,
Cigarettes and romance embodies you and I’m too weak to not find you
Alluring, Chains and guitar strings around your neck
Imprisoned as the starved poet you are
Oh, I think I love every fiber of your being

I met him down in Albion
In the black swan where he bought me a drink
And we shared cigarettes whilst reciting,
Old French poetry, I wished I knew
What he was thinking as he stared off into the distance
With his black hat on askew,
Covering his brown, jagged and beautiful hair
He was much taller than most I’d ever met,
And I loved the feeling of his arm over my shoulder
His slim frame surely protecting me,
From the dangers only to be found
Down in Albion