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The way we speak of love
As something which makes us fall - captured, sick, blind and broken Crazy Aflame. We are pain and half-ourselves we tell each other we must Fight. We are empires or leaves or weak Under attack empowered weathering stolen or Daring. Fools? lost drunk high we are a fallen people ? Wellington Square
A couple are near the centre of the Gardens like a pair of statues half-covered in the creeping gloom. They might be here for the night rather than in one of the shop entrances or alcoves or carparks across town, in a spot not part of the architecture outside which is getting more amorphous as the evening ticks on, looming and black. It’s all quiet, apart from their occasional laughter. One of them passes a bottle of Old Rosie to the other. The dark forms around the square seem to lean in but I stay where I am, the more it all begins to look like an image repeatedly photocopied, two figures in a flood of static; this may only be what today affords for them, and as they share a deep kiss they’re permanent. Everything else here seems senseless. |
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