The London Hours, 2012


It’s being back in fog
in a spring day
It’s waiting to take off
a wet wet coat
It’s being put back in time
face down on the shore
waves and waves
against and afar
putting me under
letting me out
as if there isn’t an end
I cannot reach you
I can only fathom how
you looked like
I have only memories
and loops
moving around my hips
shake your body
rotate look up the arms
rings on fingers
heavier around my head
Everyone comes back
these days
Everywhere I turn I
Every moment we spent
Death is a hole


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