Naked Dreams

Tickets to London.
Trains and escalators down long glass corridors,
Looking over her shoulder, smiling.
Slowly filling with raindrops - the phone,
Pressing the buttons that won't press - the phone.
Nothing works and then she's alone.

Escalators melting into stairs.
Trains melting into horses and carriages.
She's evolving and is seated in the back of the black cab.
London views melting into grimey seaside cheapness.

An unwelcome friend has influenced her, the one who was smiling.
Unsmilingly, they leave the black cab and leave her alone.
Naked and alone.
Perched high on the elevated back seat for all to see.

Solitude is shattered as the large, rough men climb in.
All they want is to know that the fight will happen.
'Will the fight happen?'
'Will it?'
'Where?'

Murmuring her assent,
They dissolve away.

She looks down upon the greenery of lawns and gardens and fenced domesticity from her soaring view.
She swoops as she flies.
She floats, fluttering butterflies

Inside her.
Searching and wanting
And not seeing the sky.
The earth is all below
Upon which she never lands.
©Prettyintelligentprincess