I am beating out the rhythm of tomorrow
– or beating in –
onto, into, my bum.
I am walking through this alleyway,
slapping my arse
like there’s no tomorrow
(because I’m hoping like hell that there will be.)

I’m singing,
I’m the breath of this fresh smell and
concrete, tarmac after the rain,
I am all their umbrellas
and the wind which pulls them,
my hair is so messed.

I stink but it’s a good stink.
It’s me and it reminds me of you
you, and the way you told me
my smell is me
and that I turn you on.

I am and I am hearing
My own footsteps on the street,
reverberating in the alleyway like
something poetic goes here.

Sometimes I catch a sight
or the smell of you
passing me by
and I want just to tell you,

You really fucking turn me on too.

September ’06


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This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x

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All content on this blog © Rebecca Tilley, 2003-present

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