Margaret Atwood

You Take My Hand

You take my hand and I'm suddenly in a bad movie, it goes on and on and why am I fascinated We waltz in slow motion through an air stale with aphrodisms we meet behind the endless ptted palms you climb through the wrong windows Other people are leaving but I always stay till the end I paid my money, I want to see what happens. In chance bathtubs I have to peel you off me in the form of smoke and melted celluloid Have to face it I'm finally an addict, the smell of popcorn and worn plush lingers for weeks

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