Friday, 16 January 2009


A time will come when frustration
Marries itself to best intentions
Whose and when we see this
Another day may tell
For answers are never easy.
You mistake my eyes for glasses
And my tremble-hands for holes.
I am not your Harry, Selma
I am not your silver shoe.
Forget we were ever parted
Miss me like you do
And when the dream-like distance
Catches you half-asleep
Grasp your straws for sickness
So health knows you're weak.

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