Saturday, 4 March 2017

Marianne

Why say I'm not part of you, my insides heave, home is a distant slew, waves of listless drummers, pad dream like at my feet, bad echoes from the sun, you don't need a clue, to particularly receive, your own dread news, or if there are troubles, that morbid fools greet, with memories of love, faces crash out a tattoo, mascara runs lemon streaked, the sea is cobalt blue, nothing stays perfumed, alone by the beach, i shrug at the view, 'you're history' gulls screech.

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