Monday, June 26, 2017

Barely Platonic

They head straight for the highest point,
run up the stairs, floor after floor, 

until they reach the top, spin around
on the flat black roof, enjoy the dizzy rush

of height. They hold hands and pull
each other this way, then that. Their eyes

wide open, they take everything in 
and laugh at each other’s laughter.

Eventually, things get serious. 
Their grip gets tight, they head for the edge.

They look down, look at each other, 
leap. The ground closes-in, hearts thump. 

Their hands slide apart, fingertips cling,
release. Chutes pop and drag.


First appeared in Clear Poetry

No comments:

Post a Comment