25 – Amy

I’m 24.
Life’s a shingle beach.
the pebbles wash out
the night washes in.
patterns between my toes
the soft soft corridor
locked doors & lost years.

Late nights, early wings.
I hide in the shower
choke over my dreams
stand in the steam
salt water over skin.

Is this what I want?
I sip cocktails emptily
in a chill wind
and imagine living here,
the sun beaming off shuttered steel
the box where I spend my days.
I can feel change
right now.

I’m 25.
It’s 5am in kentish town.
I open my cards on the rushing train,
try not to mix tears with ink.
the window wide
a field of gleaming grass
all the same height.
& when the wind blows
it ripples
like a silk sheet
shook out.

(twisting up the tower
seven faces circle me
the bells ring
beautiful nostalgia
sweet, sweet echo)

7 days after my birthday
is when my life begins.
purple suede shoes
air ripe with crisp light.
summer is over
and so it blooms.

Googling ‘i feel too alive’
trotting softly down
lavender steps,
to coffee.

Ruby cubes under my shoes
that electric caress
those hunting eyes
Hell, I can’t take this life.

Kisses smothered
before they arouse
restless fire, molten glance
I tell you, nothing can
put me out.

The same song
a thousand times.
you aint getting any
are you?

Amy Austen

As a travel writer, reviewer and content writer, writing has taken her around the world, around the palate, and around the mind.

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