The sun has almost set out there,
Somewhere far across a street where we once laughed,
This land had scents of earth and damp,
Where we rested our weary bodies,
And talked of lives betrayed.
We clung to each other and to life in that apartment,
Bedecked in Bakelite and polyester,
And saw the slivers of sun shine across Gorky Park,
Into a room where we swam in vodka truths.
There was no bed, but we made do with what was there.
And now our secret masks have fallen,
Unspoken, we know that this is all for one last time,
And so deliver our final words,
Safely wrapped and given up in beautiful lies.
bobby stevenson 2013
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