Toned.

Grant me, if you will,
The ability to forget, and then to re-live.
And the possible indication of where i went wrong the first time.
Of course, i am not asking you to go back.
What a waste and regain of time that would be.
All I'm saying is, my night was sweeter knowing that the next day,
I was to visit the seaside I'd never before seen.
Now i have.

~

Sometimes passion holds me.
Occasionally gripping at my arms and cupping the flesh,
All the while maintaining it's trade.
Brushes in my hands - pens, technology and hefty plastic expenses.
-
Passion is;
My carriage now sits empty, par the man two windows thick, through,
And so my voices carries out from travelled throat,
and trails softly around the bars, eightie's designed seating and mortgage adverts.
It's barely even a whisper. And it's slightly out of tune.
But all the while this circle line train plummets deeper,
It's route set and myself stuck.
It shakes my being comfortably, uncontrollably
And I watch the curve in machinery.
It's destination set, I wait upon an exit.
But that part before doors slide,
Possibly is felt when passion drives.

Narrow, aimless, blind but sure of an arrival.




~
Daylight showed me Essex was at my feet,
My suitcase merely grumbled along behind me in an adolescent way.
The train doors scraped some sort of farewell, and in my mind only did the train whistle aprovingly as it steamed away.
For a moment my hair was permed and a netted hat sat slanted upon it.
But sepia failed to make it's appearance today,
and so a chav bustled by me hump-ily, clashing music riding within his palm.
'I'm not a fan of lazy days'
She once said.
And half an hour later boarded a train so similar.
His voice played out a blur as she sat alone on the platform.
There was no breeze disguising traffic,
But the hum sat in the air around her had his tone to it.
It wound itself into her throat,
and caused her the deepest breath she'd taken that day.

Her eyes turned inwards,
but there was no deffinate way of seeing his face.
The sun then peered out from behind the wispy clouds,
it's warmth rolled over her as did her eyes roll outward.
They ached in protest to the newly found brightness,
and squinted accordingly.
A familiar tingle hit her throat,
And the sounds of live piano muscled it's way into the back of her mind somewhere.
She enjoyed it for no longer than 30 seconds,
And then, her throat and eyes dry, she left.