Sunday, 4 November 2012

In Our Secret Lives

we fight,
and sleep on the sly
in fields of rye,
Catchers of Disease and Fright.

When you decided to deconstruct
my life, you left me no head, no bed

no might. Forgiveness charges
on a sweet grey nag;

I am here. I never betrayed
our secret; I never pretended
to be right.

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