Page 7 - Lamplight Magazine (1)

MAGDALEN

By C.S. Marie

I

I remember pockets of the night:
You and I in the street, in the back of a taxi,
Me in the toilets, making friends with ease
You, dancing almost aggressively
And only with me.
You, clothed in white virgin robes
And a bow-tie. You are maudlin to me.

II

I’m here in the same shirt as yesterday
I did wear exotic lingerie
But now it lies on the floor like a stain.
Give me the hours before day breaks again?

Weren’t we only mortals, did we have so
Much to lose?
Weren’t they only mortals too?
What I told you, drunk, ever since was true:
I need your validation. I don’t love you.
There is no déjà vu, no end of days
G UERRILLA K ISSES; life goes on the same.

III

Sometimes you find,
A husk
In your porridge, or your rice,
And you have to chew and chew
or swallow whole

I emptied you
Of man, spat you out
For a smoother flavour.
Sometimes you’re there
In the back of my mouth,
And I can’t chew my words.

EMILY
06 TAHABURT