Friday, 27 July 2012


   a muse
A beauty
   just like a prose
Made from
   delicate ink
Written on
   coloured paper
I want to feel you
             but my hands are:
         1. dirty
     You will
   Be lost in darkness
         2. wet
     You will
   Be drenched, torn apart
So I read you
   from afar
-     silently

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