harking back to an earlier poem of mine: poor wendy -- all the heroines get left behind. but she was a darling after all. yes, i very much have tears in my eyes. and it shall be hard to see, and sometimes i won't want to, but i will go on looking an...
whilst sunlight slides through the shutters, softly silver white in the gleams -- i say, how i cannot love you the same today as years ago.
i pressed thoughts of you to my pillow playfully, and reach down through my thighs though i was then haltered: by a vision of dyed roots and careless legs carcass-spread in the nightgrass -- a stranger's scent seeped onto your sheets which you slept in soundly still.
i make myself sick over the number 3 and can never sleep again for you loved me less: left for dead in an old dream, long since stale and faded by the early daylight that streamed through my window: i cannot love the same, not again, not tonight.
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