Continental shifts

It’s only then when you’re being swept along by the hands of the clock and the song brings you back to the moment you first heard her and you swear that you met her in an Algerian café, only then you remember it was back in Montmartre where she left you a small part of herself.

The mind plays its tricks but the memory of the meeting sticks and you can’t shake the feeling that something is missing and you’ve been looking for answers in a thousand chorus dancers that took your fancy for an evening somewhere,

but it’s her and always has been because she’s starred in every dream you ever had.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.