Midnight on the underground, and we gather – whispering, chittering, rustling, in all our different forms of darkness.
Soon we’ll ascend, to swoop and play in the city streets, dancing past empty windows, leaving no reflection in the dirty puddles, seeking our different forms of pleasure.
They are waiting for us, in night-clubs, in sleazy bars, on street corners. They just don’t know it yet.
For Sonya’s Three Line Tales. Photo by Samuel Wong via Unsplash.
Sarah writes poems 