It was some diner on the corner of some street
where we conversed sweetly into the night
through clouds of thick cigarette smoke
and the fumes of strong, black coffee.
And the dead of love came back to us that night.
We walked outside and you looked at me,
you were like a doll.
Porcelain beauty with brown eyes, where
neon lights reflected in the whites,
and your perfect smile formed
through rosy lips.
And under the sizzling of the neon,
and the street lights that shot out their
dull orange glow going from
light
to dark
light
to dark
and it went off like this for miles
with the sound of wheals rolling against the concrete
underneath.
Carrying lifeless metal
with lifeless people
going to lifeless places.
And you said
‘what next?’
And this was then I realised
That I did not know what was next.
Do we leave here?
Or stand in this pool of light
In middle of the darkness
And watch moments of romance be born
And die in our arms.
About the author:
Dean West is a short story writer, poet from the South East of England who has been previously published in SparkBright Magazine and had two poems published in WordRiot last year. He has finished a novel and is yet to submit to publishers and is working on a second book. To see more of his work, please visit http://www.deanwestface.deviantart.com/ This page also features photography from Dean West.
