Poem in which
000000000000she is only able to whisper.
A moment is one circular road.
In which his face, edged with a good deal of the day,
clatters on my grief
00000000000000(too near to think).
Poem in which some things are crazily bleak –
concur, believe or say a piece.
Your flame still wears a hole in my thigh.
I dare not look.
Sophie Collins
poemsinwhich.wordpress.com 