Monday, 17 November 2014


We walk streets- filled with rain and Christmas.
as the fog fades away; gently.
Words-not quite shared, never fully hidden-
hold sway in the bog.
A green kitchen- dark, still, autumnal;
filled with honesty.

I open up old wounds, as the radio plays,

too quiet for our eager ears.
Your eyes-pure/true/bright,
catch me out, as November drizzle
falls softly down,
on heavy coats.

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