Thursday, 18 October 2012

Tank


Bournville wrappers frogskip through the air.
Dusty cement square dusty blue jeans.
Sooty dark golds, forever encased in Cobweb glass lamps
flood the heart as
twisting silver rings fill up the 
poker spaces.

Drenched to the bone in that quiet light,
two girls dont talk of a lot of pretty things.

Peace

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