Waking up

I see his face, as he
plays the double bass.
I stand in line
hiding behind others
he doesn't know I'm there
Catching glimpses
that disappear.

Overgrown hair on his chin
The spikes that made pain
as we kissed.
He shaved them off once
when we were pissed.
Blood seeped
strong and red
blasting downwards
from a cut mole.

I am aware of
narrow alleys and
wood brown panelling.
His crooked hands
move up the bass
and I'm swaying
swaying.

Blinking
Eyes wide.
A whoosh of sadness.
Eyes are squeezed shut
but the images have gone.