Let's start over on Kensington Church Street.
Let's gaze at antiques pressed to the window frame—
puzzle jugs and wainscot chairs with lion's feet.
Let's gobble breakfast then stop for a treat:
Bakewell tarts, milk from bottles topped with cream.
Let's start over on Kensington Church Street.
Stuffed with gained wisdom, let's newly meet.
Let's squander our savings to stake a claim
on puzzle jugs and wainscot chairs with lion's feet.
I'll buy you lace knickers and grab chips to eat.
Then we'll climb five flights to our narrow room.
Let's start over on Kensington Church Street.
In our creaky bed, we'll conjure up the beat—
the secret harmonic that warps us through time,
like puzzle jugs and wainscot chairs with lion's feet.
Let's ride the Tube and cuddle in one seat
till our reflections etch the window grime.
Near puzzle jugs and wainscot chairs with lion's feet,
let's start over on Kensington Church Street.
-
Issue 71
-
Editor's Note
-
POETRY
-
FICTION
-
ESSAY