Pulling at heartstrings
Like a harp,
The delicate tremors of angels' voices
That cascade between metal and emotion,
Raw, vibrant crescendos of tears
In the back alley,
Mascara hitting the concrete
Like the raindrops,
Stale and scattered
By the storm that was stirred
In the bedroom the night before,
Passion flashing like lightning
Between the rolling clouds of
Bedsheets and bare skin,
All to wither like the retreating tide,
The rising of trouser legs
Like the Sun,
A walk of shame down a lonely road,
A seagull flying out to sea,
Wings spread beyond vast waves
Of boring bricks and patchwork ***-holes,

*Only to flee from the filthy hot mess of another conquest