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Ballerina Shoes Left in the Rain

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Summary:
Olde write. History will say nothing, but 'I told you so.'

From cradle to dance floor grave 

the love she desires more distant than 

love letters recited by lost astronauts 

 

Who reads her midnight poems 

which fall as guitar string stars 

into an orchestra of broken violins? 

 

Desperately In Search of Craving Others 

music she plays curates a braille museum, 

dance girl, dance, in that summer dress 

 

Darling, I hug a pillow 

it’s you in my room 

leaving thumbprints in tomes 

turning tomb nights into  

briefest-of-eternity tides 

 

Darling, sail into my harbour 

you can submarine drift as gushed diesel 

slowly seeping towards my anchor 

 

I wrote a poem fours before we met 

wuthering cliches of darkening 

clouds and hyacinth grenades – 

waiting, your soul’prints into my words 

 

Leave bow doors open 

tender moonlight steers between thighs, 

O Captain! My captivation is lit by streetlights. 

Mattress overboard – 

It only takes one shy smile to drown a man 

 

I peel diamonds and rust from  

the lighthouse between us, 

always shining, or so it seems, into fog 

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