jours, mois, années passent.

November 28, 2013 § Leave a comment

I, la madonne des mal-aimés?

no. six days and already you

are bicycling into the briars of tomorrow’s

encounters. I am nothing to you

now. ‘Fly away.’

and as you demand my departure you are binding my wings with words the size of promises enclosed, a whole circle, you might say,

a ring.

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