Sunset Blvd.

Sunset Boulevard

Where the amber lamps throw long shadows on the boulevard,
Cars glide like steam‑whetted carriages past Hollywood’s glittering façade,
The scent of summer mutters from a roadside stall of cotton‑eyed cornflakes;
The whole street hums a low beat, like a lorry on the M25 at dusk.

I walk the asphalt, my thoughts picking up the flutter of jazz notes,

and a breeze that smells faintly of a future champagne bottle.
On the corners I see film‑stars whispering into the night,
their phones flickering like beads of starlight.

In the distance, a marquee lights up in bright plum, a frozen scene,
while the city’s lights bleed into the colour palette of a British sky,
and for a moment the world feels as though it were wrapped in a
royal velvet curtain – a temporary, honest, cosy one.