Sunday, 19 July 2015

It's A Slow Death

I'm flesh and bone
Blood and guts 
Root and hair
Alphabets are leaves I shed
The autumn draft
During winter spells
The everyday seasons 
The sun never sets
And you'd agree
I'm not made of letters
But my darling
Its a slow death
When they want only your words
And your body lies forgotten
It's a dull pain
That time reminds and hangs like 
Clothespins from your skin
It's an ungentle ache
When the only curves and shapes
They yearn for
Are the ones they can hear
Coming out of your mouth
The only thing they'd like to undress
Is a page left blank

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