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Kenn Rushworth May 2016
We met at night
By the leaking window of the evening train
On the two seats with the fewest tears
Two spaces apart
Her perfume was like being loved to death
An olfactory haven above the damp and the diesel
I commented on the weather
And told her my name

Her movements were the increments
Of some heaven or hell
Some Utopia or Gomorrah
Her words trickled between bones
And emptied the room of air
"I'm going to tell you a story" she said

"It begins with a person falling
And ends exactly the same"

— The End —