Friday, 4 February 2011


Just when you think it's all over, hasty winds graze your cracked lips 
And dirty daylight washes over your eyes.

Surprised by truth and wrong, the pure droplets 
Flitter down from indigo skies.

The cherry stuck in your throat, speechless you see far too easy to please.
And the vodka sings one final note, under the tunnels of white.

Walking down the road at midnight.

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