Hold on a minute, did you just die, I can’t hear you anymore.
Frantic, out of control, you buzzed your last, while trying to escape the blinding light that tempts you to your doom. I listened to you while I wrote, how you battled on relentlessly, stopping only once, to sit on a piece of cheese, the tiresome buzz echoing under a cheap aluminium shade from IKEA.
And then, silence, no more from you.
’twas your last orbit,
and my last dirty vodka,
5.45am train to Paris.