Tuesday, 9 May 2017

A second death

I look into mirrors, on the morning after 
And count my bruises and blessings, 
I worship this space, skin and soul that you touched
Wonder if the air that kissed our truth is perfumed still 
With that primal urge to stubbornly converge
Your oh-so-distant life with the not-quite-mine 
I knew then, no one is afraid of a second death 

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