by Stephen Holmes
(Bournemouth, UK)

There’s so much tension in the air
You can taste it,
Or just wrap it up
And push it down,

Deeper, here,
In the pit of your stomach
Where it sits and waits,
Watching you

Squirm in your seat,
Biting your nails,
Banging your head against the wall,

On pushing these thoughts
To the back of your mind,
Where they can’t surface

She gives you no choice
And it just slips out.

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