24 May 2014


Where do I live? That place where sleep hasn't left. It clings to me like a shadow of you sent along phone lines, across years, jumping through quietness, shouting through roads, tumbling through skies, it falls on the small of my back and pulls me closer.

Shadowy, silent, soft. And so binding, so blinding. So biting. Breathless boundless.

Rustles my hair, calls forgotten names, lives in the past of the future and the future of the past. Cries hot love and singes my eyelashes. There weren't much to start with. I'll do with yours for the meanwhile.

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