Madame Bovary

By | 11 July 2009

My skin pores and lets you in the thin place
between the word and the thing.
Sleep awhile if you will
the body has endured a short lesson
in how to be here
and it is too late to ask questions
(remember, I hold the darkness this time).
Falling for you or at least in front of you,
you don't have any rebound tenderness.
You harvested whatever you could carry.
I can hear the protective way
things wrap you up, tell me
what has gone missing
the colour of god's hair or something.

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