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From: "L.O.V.E. Love"
L.O.V.E. Love
From the club
they stumbled out unbeknown
with that last, that favourite song, which
wafted like the smell of
food into the night sky.
(The
moon
was a childs drawing of a moon,
silver on black in a sky thick with stars.
The streets had just been cleaned).
They knew that if their love lasted
the night out, it would have hardened
by morning, like icing left overnight
in the shut-up restaurant by the bus station.
The song looped
back to sing itself again,
like the constant whistling in their ears,
or the alarm howling
behind the houses, insisting it was
this moment that mattered,
this hunger that love should be.
(Take
a look
at the faces of those boys when the girls
smile. Look at them grin.)
So they guessed, this feeling was
the few minutes in their lives that was
the other life they hoped the whole would be,
the thrill that had them shudder
as their eyes met.
As if, before fading, the evening
had stir-fried its colours through the chords
of that song, to serenade them
into the bus bays, down the aisles,
to haunt them home. As if
the song were called L.O.V.E. Love,
and, between them, they knew all the words.
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