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S Sampson

Updated: 2 days ago

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Traveling English teacher, forever learning. Currently based in Hà Nội, Việt Nam.


Not to your former beauty, Weakened, cracked and pale with age, Stony face of former onyx glory. I’ve the skills to restore you, Replenish you – your intricate features, The credit I will claim – mine. Pinpoint precision drill-bits, To smooth and hollow, Your now-empty marble veins. Like a spider battles a wind-blown web, My craftsmanship, symmetric precision, Will bring you beauty once again. But who will notice these skills of mine? I’m no Moghul, no eunuch, no bride. I was never here – only my gap-filling left behind.

Jetlag in Vietnam

I thought you were beaten, Or at least – controlled. By me! Tricking the brain; Sub-tropics a more stark sunrise-sunset terrain. That’ll fool you. Reset the circadian rhythm, My favourite beat. Or, simply slumber your first day away – surely can’t fail? Now, at a quarter-past midnight, Mind-body in tandem, Bed-ridden without desire, To sleep! Close eyes, rest – but why? Surely, I’ve the skills to outsmart the sky. It’s alluring likeness to the UK, Clouds forming with, always, the threat of rain.

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