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Tuesday, 8 February 2011


We crash onto the ground
And all is silent, except, the rustling of leaves,
The disquietude in my heart.
And all is sweet, except, the taste of tobacco
Mingling with the cooling air.
And all is calm, except, the teeming of pestilent thoughts
Of your salacious smile.
And all is bright, except, the rapid-darkening night
as our lips lock...

Then I awake.

© Florence Challender 2011