Friday, April 24, 2009

I watch your lips form the words ~ mark cobley

you smell of fresh air.

you are not here but in scotland
or in a car
going to the seaside laughing.

i see the stone walls, the curve of hill
the clouds.

and in yours eyes reflected
in the mirror
your turning away white teeth towards sheep.

it is misty. morning.

i am stood in the garden
where silence can mean more.

in the trees are your hair.

i lost the last line
but it began with

we don't know each other anymore

that it is all in code
numbers for letters.

hills higher than your thought.

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