she lay between the lines
of romance novels,
dipped her finger into sherbet
(the same colour as the sun)
and tasted heartbreak,
affairs and bitterness.
the same kind she wanted
to spit out in his face
but the colour was too
beautiful.
and he was a pig.
and her eyes were
heavy.
so aching fingers
tugged reality beneath her chin
and watched dawn exhale
through sheer drapes.








12 old applause
