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Friday, 23 August 2019



Eddie’s voice recoils me to a time 
where I can still feel the electric guitar-air 
prick on my skin
Where I breathed in
bathed endlessly in euphoric music 
Danced to my own body’s rhythm
Where, I was most... alive

In sweet stale air 
under a pitched blue ceiling 
we journeyed spiralling
Lit by a flood of honeyed streetlamp
Drinking in with fingertips, numb lips 
Senses igniting with our every sigh 
Here, I was most... alive

Then, the night air was filled with erotic mystery 
Even passing car head lights spoke to me of romance 
Here, soul-eyes that met mine 
were... eager 
yearned... incessantly for me
As we lay forever suspended in time
There, I was most... alive 

© Debbie Razey 2019 - Violet Moon Poetry