Champagne

Champagne tastes of requisitioned memories,

carved in sepia transformation and movies

backlit with perfect damsels clothed in mystery,

and I see your face between the effervescent frames,

writing our story in adolescent cells,

“How I detest the dawn. 

The grass always looks

like it’s been left out all night.”*

    

    

* Hardy Cathcart, The Dark Corner, 1946

Poem © Phen Weston 2015

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