Electric skies.

That sickness,
the desire to eat
at a better cafeteria.
A sad girl nursing
a cosmopolitan.

The sad guy
who goes home alone
while the party girl
bangs the waiter.

She was a shy
and naive artist,
who captured an ideal
in black and white.

Colour played sin
and corruption.
The world peeled raw,
the stain of blood
and viscera.

She wore a mask
of beauty.
A dimpled smile
to disguise her scars
in an ugly world.

He painted her nude
on a bed of dollars
he withdrew
green and crisp
from his petty cash account.

He paid poets
to immortalise her
in twisted rhyme.
She cooked him

they exchanged vows
of perpetual friendship.
But in the acid street light
he was already looking
over her shoulder.

A look of sadness
dies. Again & again
in grey eyes.
He flew and her world imploded
under lemon tinted skies.

-Dave Kavanagh

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