Early Hours

No poems 
Only mistakes
Not as precise as her 
Two lips
First against by back
And then my shoulders
Shelved as we were
Between sheets 
Turquoise 
White
As outside 
Inadequate 
Layers of snow
Barely cover
Subterranean bones
And their 
Mute
Piped
Call
As outside the frosted 
Window 
Upwards 
The tractor negotiates 
The white crusted hill.

 

 

 

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Malcolm Paul
Picture Nick Victor

 

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