I read a poem once,
curled up,
on a sofa made of pallets.
With a beautiful creature,
I did not know.
And yet,
near his heart,
and all its beautiful caves,
and shadows,
and brightness…
I let him hold me,
in his gentle care.
Though that was but yesterday,
it was half my life ago.
Somewhere, in an old hanger in Devon.
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