Thursday 17 November 2011

locking horns

And we fight and we end, like always,
With indigestion, mine
And sleep, yours.

You insist, I rage
Grind teeth choke back salt
Feeling through our thoughts and wants
like blind rats in the rain, confused
moving towards a dull longing to be warm and dry

knowing all the while to become so
is to be so alone

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