Seven

Is there another world you know?
I’m keeping a rigour on the snow. 

To wait and see

See it quiver from below

Below the leaves.

On loving that heavenly face…

Time is the only thing I know
The middle of your mixed up six words
Nothing more.

My love is proud, my love is small

My love is a Friday pouring
And a black wave cresting and
Crashing down the living room shore.

You say it in a foreign tongue.

…But you don’t know a thing, about the things I’ve done.

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