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Saturday, 26 January 2013

Wait & Wake

The woman who our intuition tells us will 
look back, and who never actually existed

Pessoa

All those words of tight black dresses
As he drifts into other consciousness
Cars that roll down hills
To cross the stream at the forge

In another room 
The boy sleeps
Utters tired words on being woken

All denominations are here
Thousands of untold dreams
Sit at the breakfast tables

For the writer it is the time to wait
Luxuriate in her hurtful absence
Selfless of his own existence