Thursday, 16 February 2012


I always knew you were there.
Like a witches finger,
scrawling up my back.
Your tiny little bones,
edged in deep
and fit perfectly
with the ridges in my back.
Now we're connected
and there's no turning back.
For the roots in my heart
form the outline of a child,
whose threads that went missing
are the same ones as mine.

A child is starved
A child is fed
And we'll weave this way forever
until we rest among the dead.

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