it gets in your bones

It’s a silly example, everyone’s talked about it
(the silver thread coiling, her neck alive against the cool edge)
but when you walk around London
(worry stillborn on her lips she thanked him again)
even with all the road markings warning you
(dream of the same alley, perfume of a spray can and warm beer)
and the noise of all the cars coming
(not even the watercolors now, acrid silence)
you look left when it’s right and right when it’s left
(at last near the edge, a murmur, a distant roar)
worst thing is
(no weight on her neck, no paint on her fingers)
after a few months you’ll walk anywhere else
(new words a salve filling the lungs)
and you’ll do the same thing
(at last near the edge, a murmur, a distant roar)
but now there’s no writing on the road
(their eyes turned toward the sea)

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