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Cyan city,

bulletproof dusk city:

your glass bones

tower above us

looking down

through sombre smog,


buried foundations


under flower beds 

laid pretty.


Aging city,

romance stained red city:

your walls are built

with artist’s hands,

painted by the footsteps

of foreign lovers,

numbing whispers 

crisp in British air

turning our hearts

purple and gritty.

Novel city,

mirror crowned aweless city:

ambitious youth

dreamt these streets,

carved new paths 

from unwritten poetry,

voices unborn 

ferment in feminist bodies

with ideas that wilt

without common history.

Polar city,

concrete clustered steel city:

inherent greed 

is burning you from within,

your pavements are grey

and your skyscrapers lonely,


past encounters lost

between hand-me-down skin

and factories bathing

in their own sin.


Cobalt city,

my love for you

is wearing thin.

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