Feb 2
2 min read
The New Romantics
Poetry
In the days of heaven, in The Star Bar,
I used to mingle with the stars.
The atmosphere was ecstatic,
the dance electric,
and we danced to the Soft Cell tunes.
They seemingly conveyed an abattoir of hope,
the atmosphere dark and foreboding,
the dry ice made us invisible though we never-the-less felt bold.
Everything felt possible.
We delved into dark sensualities.
The air was primed with the scent of amyl nitrite…
