London's False Spring

March 12, 2019

 

 

 There’s something intangible,
tasty, satisfying but just out of
reach.
London on a Spring morning, a scent of carnival and warm drinks in the park,
a melting pot of cultures and promises, somebody 
to be
an open minded identity that sits peaceful in the thrill of it all, drowning in nostalgia and the smell of Brixton in May.
A longing for a rooftop soiree, somewhere to swim naked,
an underground party with music that swallows you.
Dirt under my fingernails, smog in my lungs
nostalgia for a place I’ve never reached sparks fire in my belly
as I step off the platform into London’s bittersweet
grind. 

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