On a bit of a writing spree at the moment...

Usually not a good sign...





Maybe quiet times,

Holding tight, a lost 

Limb in paradox.

Floating, timid touching

And left over bone

On bone.

All quivers, left

To the elements

And empty.

We talk about

Ourselves in the 

Third person,

And think about

The other men

You've slept with.

Quiet times, dull

Times, in the dankest

Of hearts

To want, to weep

To dream slender


Singing made me 

Weep, and all I knew

Was dust.




◄ Bedtime

Somnambulance ►


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winston plowes

Sat 23rd Jul 2011 12:26

Loved this one Hayden. Trying to hold a moment in time which cannot be completely defined is a dificult thing (As is trying to descride why you like something sometines!) but you have done so here. sensitively and with a deal of skill. Win

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