Monday, 16 November 2015


Your endless legs
Forever eyes
Many fingers sprouting forth
From your
Countless hands
And your hair
Wild, in
The wind, blowing
With your hourglass
Where the sands have frozen
Is far too little
For my misshapen feet
These crooked hands
My wandering eyes, my
Troubled heart
My mistaken mind
And the ticking clock
Of my hairline
All I have
Are words.

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