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I fell for his voice first
As it flew through grey smoke
Through loud cursing laughter
Over clinking glasses
A small gig, a small bar
Just him and a guitar
I saw
On a hot summer’s night
Through flickering dim light
The captivating sight
Of his body
Edgy alley-cat grace
A lazy easy pace
The hungry-dangerous
Smile on his stubbled face
He called me his princess
It fuelled the incess-
-ant need that first late night
A man
Muscles beneath his shirt
A hard mouth full of dirt
Pretty enough to hurt
Like, I could have died
Feeling the smooth slide
Of skin against skin
His hoarse voice humming
And fingertips rough
From guitar strumming
So masculine
And so blinding
A tectonic figure
Sprawled on a bed too small
We fucked against the wall
And listed ceiling dreams
He wanted endless fame
I wanted his last name
I hung off his every word
Dangled like a flightless bird
Dependant and so desperate
For a mutual obsession, but
He was filled with fantasies
Of money and endless ease
Beaches, mansions, blue, blue seas


Nights sweated by
Weed got him high
He got me high
On rollercoasters of lies
Fantasies and aching sighs
He stopped saying princess
And switched to paperclip instead
Because he always said
I restored order in his head
But while I chased his bad boy act
He chased a recording contract
He was a magnet
To my inconsequential paperclip
And I was
Helplessly drawn into his easy pull
But he moved to the city
And then across the world
A train
And a plane
And two taxis
To reach him
And still
I loved him like that first gig
Like the smoke of the cig-
-arette that passed from my mouth to his
But he didn’t even smoke anymore
Said it’d ruin the new clothes he wore
Even behind a closed hotel room door
He was too high
To see me cry
High as a kite
Colourful and bright
Tangled between treetop dreams
Paperclips are nothing much
Just a temporary crutch
At least that was what I thought
As I endeavoured and fought
To forget how I was caught
By a man so cheaply bought


I was waiting
Patiently anticipating
Looking at him on the television
With tattoos on his arms
And big names on his clothes
As he talked about
Ways of getting out
Learning not to doubt
And he sang the song
The new number one
The multi-selling record
Used in TV commercials
At weddings, at funerals
Somehow I lost track
Won’t you have me back?
‘Cause my only real trip
Was with my paperclip


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright 2016-18 browncoffee
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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