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I hold and feel you 
dance along
the curling coils 
of flex. 

    Your words 
encoded, 
in the nexus of 
cold black space. 

Sigue Sigue Sputnik 
ping off static satellites. 

    Waves race your sweet song
across a silken baize 
of star shot sky.


Streetlights play pitch and toss 
with phosphorescent pennies 

    The sea scrubs 
in ebb and flow 
shadows shine off wet & dry 

In the sizzling flash 
of fish & chip shop neon
pikes and poles  
vibrate in striated lines.
    
Night birds ride 
copper covered wire 
and I covet them the thrill 
of toes tickling your words. 
      A poem lands complete 
uncurling on my tongue.

Friday night, I hold you 
in the crook of my arm
lips moist from breathe
cupped in cold dark corners. 

Your whispered promise  
in my straining ear.
Another year your swear
and it will be
      Friday night always.


     -Dave Kavanagh

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