An evening stroll.

It's London at night,

All reflections and shadows,

Puddles and strangers,

Idyllic, but not quite -

It's dappled jade leaves,

Black mosaics and streetlights,

Scarlet melting to amber,

Gorgeous, but not right -

It's the splash of lone footsteps,

On mossy stone streets,

Under shimmering rain,

Sparkling, but not bright -

It's a forged, stolen painting,

Tinged blue at the edges,

Under rose lenses, perfect,

But I've opened my eyes tonight.