Over the land

I have been far away from you, my love

The tea pot, the newspapers, the garish flash of tesco coupons,

they are your defensive lines and I cannot catch your eye across

the trenches: can I use your grappling hook, just a moment,

let me lasso it into your iris so you can see me –

waving the white flag. Can I come across, my darling?

will you meet me on the bridges, before your little men

light their fires under us.

 

 

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