Can't quite
Can’t quite And you can’t quite wash the smell of nicotine off your fingers and a friend comes out to you in the rush hour tube and everyone at work is doing lines off the bar
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You say one thing
As I lay here now, thinking about that night, I wonder about myself. How I let what happened happen.
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She dives like Geena Davis
poem
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Thief with the key
The numbness of days that passed With no expectation left Save that it too should pass
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Street Wife (13/9/4)
Street life. It's the only life I know...
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- 314 reads
Familiarity
Another poem about relationships.... oh dear.
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Bare Rooms
We have nothing left to show each other except empty hands that can only make these futile gestures towards the boxes that now hold so much of our once-shared lives.
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- 2586 reads
Triple vision; three ways to tell the same story
Breaking out; A view from the beach; On white horses
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Tweed
Tweed A gentleman's tweed jacket I think in Lovat for meeting with the Headmistress , a progress report and for watching the concert or the play supporting the match against St Marys
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- 1705 reads