Saturday, 21 August 2010
Sun and Rain are making Love
sit in the corner of the night
running a temperature of negative
zero degrees and pretentious happiness.
Sometimes love is a kiss
on the forehead of a grave,
or a lone wave in the silent dark
of a slowly crazing mind.
If Poverty is dirt,
Love is the gold
buried in its belly.
I’d have sold you my heart
but you’re too broke to buy it.
Sun and Rain are making Love.
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