You take my hand and
I’m suddenly in a bad movie,
it goes on and on and
why am I fascinated
We waltz in slow motion
through an air stale with aphorisms
we meet behind endless potted palms
you climb through the wrong windows
Other people are leaving
but I always stay till the end
I paid my money, I
want to see what happens.
In chance bathtubs I have to
peel you off me
in the form of smoke and melted
celluloid.
Have to face it I’m
finally an addict,
the smell of popcorn and worn plush
lingers for weeks.
Margaret Atwood.
