poems

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21/06/2017

Burnt with impossibilities.

Kindled with hope.

Alight on sight.

Is that a new coat?

Edging with heat all through my legs.

A response, your voice, a conversation he begs.

Physically unable to understand the reasons for his reactions.

A week and a million hopeful desires later in a room all alone, he’d write in his diary “She wasn’t worth it”

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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