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Theo Martin

I miss those tender days of you,
How open you were,
How broken you seemed,
How wild and free

Quiet brings exotic need,
Open hearts and open mouths,
That grow from leaves, to roots and seed,
And call me, tumbling earthward bound

There is no going back, it’s true,
No throwing myself into you,
Those long bright days of glamorous fervour,
Hot bright weeks with greatness to offer

But it was never real, at least not true,
Too many shadows entered you,
But still in quiet moments I’ll come,
Wake, to when you and I were one.

Tagged: Issue FIve, poetry, Summer, Theo Martin, Winter 2015

February 5, 2015