Pure escapism

I’ll bet she’s the type that

secretly reads door-stop Gothics

and would go for a square cleft jaw

and strong silence

if she could get them.

 

I’ll bet she’s the type that

secretly craves champagne while drafting shift rosters

and would go for remembered birthdays

and the smell of someone else’s cooking

if she could get them.

 

I’ll bet she’s the type that

secretly plans Pacific cruises to ideologically unsound ports

and would go for the ship

and the more sensitive members of the crew

if she could get them.

 

I’ll bet she’s the type that

secretly cries in all the parts old Hollywood intended

and would go for moustaches in white dinner jackets

(dying of unrequited love for torch singers with her looks)

if she could get them.

 

I’ll bet she’s the type that

could move brazenly to the tropics

to have leave without pain

and to find a warmer home for her secrets.

And she would get them.

3 thoughts on “Pure escapism

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