salva me:

we saw the moon shine down on shutters open, even

then, she did not love her chosen

husband

cold inside the car, breath full of frosting

this summer’s ghost an image on the windscreen

where one won’t speak for sunshine

one won’t will the seasons

passing

stop this turning, to and fro-ing

stop this spinning, endless heaving

let hands hang;

the moon is waiting for you, in her

nightgown

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