Afterglow

Walking down the streets on thursday morning you tell me this feels like sunday.
Maybe it was.
A vision.
Coffee Bean, love nineteen -
Tommy on my left with his delicate aquiline features and aristocratic fragility, almost anorexic in bearing (I wonder how he looks in green), Matthew on my right, reminiscent of a Greek god, square jawed and physically well-set (you could be a Greek god the way I worship you), beautiful and full-bodied like black coffee, and me in the centre in my highest heels, pale from the night before with smudged eyeliner and a lover-pushed back fringe (that means I didn’t stick out like a sore thumb that badly). Stolen from an innocuous mirror set in the wall, wrought in a haze of post-coital and alcohol, it was entirely splendid.