Twenty Four

Walking with the swinging tilt
of late night red wine, soaked and
slotting between boys like China dolls

smoke tangling
time tasted like him leaving. A laugh like
crying, cross-legged in the

dead night
the pang of loss relighting
organs twanging heat, not fact

hands-free reliving. Revelling in silky
legs newly shaven and inhaling
someone else, briefly

feeling desolate. Twenty four years of dirty modernity
sticky from pelvis to collarbone

burning a hole in my belly, and
holding my liberation
like a hot stone.

About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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