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John Birkbeck |
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AFTER THE PARTY The last guests still standing have stumbled away, and low snores rise from flaccid forms strewn round the floor, and the night is old. I sit on the carpet at your feet, watching the shadows dancing in your eyes. The candles burn low, and this is the magic hour for young flesh and ancient desire. The last of the music has played out and we stare at each other; we have become silent fortune tellers. |