Friday, 9 October 2015


It's been too long for longing
Too late for waiting
And you'd rather hum,
"I speak too soon,
I think too fast."
The milk boiled, burned, over spilled
Stained your skin
The clouds that loom above her head
Never rain
The stars, like your home,
gather dust.
Send me the miles you've travelled,
Send me the sky, the moon, the earth
Send me all you've seen from up high
Send me a photograph of your smile
Crooked teeth by crooked steps
Send me the rain of your city
And the only shade of green you know
If you cannot send these postcards
Send me away.

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