2.30am One New Years Day

Sitting by the fire
with holes in my stockings
my decade behind me,
I feel hair sweep
the nape of my neck
and my eyes are heavy,
you pour champagne
in those cheap flutes
we bought and
clouded in a dishwasher.

Mini coquille empty shells
and the spell of
someone holding out
their arms,
just wide enough
just deep enough
the pine spits
and crackles
and I see all lost hope
in the flames as they die.

Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2014-01-01 at 20:15

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Ah, nicely put. I had to be at work at two am on New Year's Day, didn't see the new year until I got up (hopes mortally wounded) for that.

After the revelry, which always seems forced and fake, the somber reality.