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The room brimmed
with her pale heat
lapping through my winter.

Dare I touch this dance
and stuff my pockets full of hope?

Parcel my fears
in wax paper and twine
and wait for them to unravel.


Pic - Cormorant Drying Wings. by Geoffrey Bickley. Sculpture: wood


love poems

◄ Bottling

Loam ►


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jean lucy thompson

Wed 19th Nov 2014 00:40

so much meaning and insight with your poems Winston love them :)

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winston plowes

Sun 9th Feb 2014 18:30

Glad you enjoyed this Jan. will look at your posts now :-)

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jan oskar hansen

Sun 9th Feb 2014 13:09

lovely poem, very gentle words

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David Blake

Wed 22nd Jan 2014 13:25

An intriguing piece. Nice one Winston.

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winston plowes

Wed 22nd Jan 2014 11:32

Thx Ian, read this at the shindig last night. seemed to go down well, thx for your comments

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Ian Whiteley

Fri 17th Jan 2014 19:25

beautiful and evocative Winston - absolutely love the opening stanza - and every word really does count - less is definitely more with this one - stunning stuff

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