The technicolour place
is where you always miss the train.
It’s where your fears lay safe,
and your eyes- once as clean as glass,
and your hunger so pink, so vast-
had the world stand naked in front,
beating like a rabbit heart.
For this one glance – whether of moments, days or years-
the one place that you can’t drug your brain out of,
the place that you cannot leave
the place where you always feel too big to be at