morning before the flight home
breath in the last pipes failed
and the drunks in the coastal dives finally
called it a night the last song sung Neil Diamond
arms around the shoulders of whoever
crackle and rattle of iced scotch in crystal
the streets so late cool and sedate
tiny rollers skirting the sand with frothy
white whispers the way you smile at me
when you’re drunk feels like immortality
sand between our toes
sticky / cotton soft complete release
mid-morning breakfast wholesome sausage
egg / beans / suet / toast
the news big screens carved into illuminated optics
Prince found dead at 57 . . .
beach breezes massaging sun-kissed cheeks
no age . . . you whisper
Paul Robert Mullen is a poet, musician and sociable loner from Liverpool, U.K. He has three published poetry collections: curse this blue raincoat (2017), testimony (2018), and 35 (2018). He has been widely published in magazine, journals and anthologies worldwide. Paul also enjoys paperbacks with broken spines, and all things minimalist. He is a regular contributor for Marias at Sampaguitas.
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