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The Betrothal
You kiss the tops of my closed hands, the mottled scarf round, a hand-fasting
Where little triple diamonds sit, it stands like a marriage
Our walk round the sea brimmed with its longings and its blue remedy
I am peering into our brief lives like Ægir’s wife and her sea fury
what’s lost is lost
May the mead of poetry find me still
I make a new dream for us to take refuge from ...
Monday 28th August 2023 1:18 am
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