Play

I hear the rain
Under darkened pages
Of a darker history
Than you know now
Or ever will.
Instead,
Let's talk of missing songs
And beaten up things
Of wars and distancings
You've imagined
While grabbing seats.

The thunder speaks. 

If only we'd met
With our gramophones
Willing to play
The same tune
Like tireless clocks
On a given day
Then pretence would be
A word at violent play
Shielding us from the throes
Of sticky talk
Stickier than cellotape.