Thursday, 21 January 2010


Translucent stain of joy on...
My tiny breath of hope. You stamp frustration into oiled, crumb-lined floorboards.
Never wash their coats. Treasure the decay of discovery, echo to laughter unbound.
Too soon our hopes are beyond grasp, our tiny pricks of uncertainty magnified, our efforts at love ballooning, bouncing back.
Hope, then, hope remains.

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