Poetry

Plymouth Gin

Only ever drink Plymouth Gin, you told me once,

But they were not your words

Fluorescent moon clips fulsome lips and curves fade to satin

In Society one morning, inspiration waning,

Simply drawing on my last reserve,

I’m the eleven year old peacekeeper,

I hear the insults, screams and cries,

I see a whirl pool,
a white pool,
a swirl of chaos,

My young life,

sheltered and cocooned in love before my darkest thought,