where things will start getting a good deal nastier)
Carrying touches
Across amber ridges
Leading out of the
tunnel
Ghana’s words flooded
Michelle’s mind
Past the deserted
shops
And underground reservoirs
Dotted with the
sunset
Lacking direction
But setting
themselves adrift
With each footstep
they took
Hovering just below
the surface
Pin-pricking across
the border
Drifting in and out
of sight
Like trains
in-between stops
Or stories heading
Towards a sticky interlude.
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