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writer...performer...sometime pop-up cinema host.

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Tuesday, 13 October 2009


If I stop to think:
I can sense your breathe
on my neck;
tiny beads of your vapour
that sink into my form
and give brilliance behind
my eyes,
then illuminates my
translucent skin.
I feel your gentle touch
know it’s just an illusion;
a cruel trick of the brain,
an apparition memory.
An aspiration, a hope,
forever unfulfilled.
I know you are there,
as the harsh coastal breeze
is an echo of the sea;
yet I cannot see you
while you shuffle about your own
mine remains an empty hollow
filled only with fairy-tale memories.
I try to see you, a picture
in my mind
while I haunt you and
refuse to admit
I’m clinging on.

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