Our Overture

Ours is an overture of sweet sighs,

longing looks,

and anxious attempts to communicate.

This is something more substantial,

I sensed it,

as I slept,

so still,

after so much restless writhing.

I don’t think it’s such a bad thing,

to see if I could forget the past,

passing it in the street,

barely bothering to look alarmed,

as I run into your arms,

outside the tube station,

knowing the past trails behind me,

breathing down a neck,

that carries your name,

and the faint frame of your kiss.

I’m not the girl of years gone by,

any longer,

or even the girl of months ago.

I’m a brass band,

I’m a harpsichord,

I’m a clarinet,

I’m the lyrics I always wanted to write,

I’m the overture for the soulmate I finally met.

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