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May, 2006
(In past tense you are winter, raining, involuntary.
Pulling close by instinct alone.)
Hands hold on to memory's carcass
drifting like the harboured wrecks.
Wasting whole years cutting ties to ribbons
until you are washed out to sea.
Holding aloft inky maps pushing you home,
every one starting to bleed.
June 13 2006, 22:50:22 UTC 5 years ago
June 13 2006, 22:57:55 UTC 5 years ago