By Holly Thomas
Friday night is a special kind of sauce.
Why be on time, when you can be late?
The latecomers lounge is here and will wait. He’ll dance for you, and you alone
As you take a seat and turn off your phone.
His trousers are black, his shirt is white
He sweeps as he moves, about to take flight With you on the ground and him in the air Blackstar, blackstar, are you out there?
Half time now and they let you in,
Quick steps on velvet stairs as it’s about to begin Ever so close, only three rows in
You are here with your mum, who shares your grin.
Sacrifice is visible and bodies defy
Is it worth pain to learn how to fly?
What enters your mind at night as you sleep, Godly talent or your broken feet?