Sunday, 15 February 2015


I remember you
against the pink of my bed
your eyes followed me
like the opposite 
of a sniper

no one had ever looked 
at me like that before

you were as pure as paper
but I was cynical
even then, with you eating me up 
with your eyes
I knew:

that the chemical of
lust and love
can change and become
a questioning of

‘why did you put you hand on his leg?’
‘your friend is coming between us.’


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