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Chess

June 5, 2013

seventythree

Say my name.
It hurts, but I’ll stand it.
Lay your hand on my face.
Such an ugly place to touch a man.
A man like me.
The breeze through the window.
The rain on the leaves.
The storm never left.
Even after your death.
Don’t you see?
My only air is your breath.

From the depth of a fever.
On the brink of the storm.
Summer come, summer came.
Laying in your arms.
Smiling on your deathbed.
Petrol perfumed, warm and mercy led.

I’d say your name.
But it hurts, and I don’t dare.
If you saw it there you’d hate me.
I’ve got a home, but I don’t know where.
So I sing of blood and fire.
I’ve all the time in the world.
To sit alone and dream of ways to decorate it.
I’ll wait and I’ve waited.
For her and for you.
Until the stars collapse.
Until my eyes close.
Only so many ways to name the rose.

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From → Poetry

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