Now I know the taste
of your lips: it is an ardor.
Sanguine as, what’s left
after the thing itself is gone.
Which proves I’ve lived.
And that’s there
amongst all my treasured phrases.
This is why I write.
For the ambiguity.
And can I describe it?
27 Feb 2005–4 April 2012
platform thing 
Posted on 04/04/2012 by Paul McLaughlan
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