Saturday 14 November 2015

At the centre of this town
Is a building of windows
Everyone is a thief in
Their own house
They spread embroidered carpets of
Oil outside every escape
They step out to fall on head
And make each trip new

At the centre of my eye
Is your faraway face
You are a thief in
Your own house
Wherever I go I drink black gold
It spreads outside my eyes
You slip out in toe dance
To fall in the pit of my neck

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