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 Sep 2022 Cristina Dean
 Sep 2022 Cristina Dean
in each shattered fragment
of time
we are forced apart

there is nothing of me
that does not cry out
for everything of you
Suspire - To draw a long, deep breath; to sigh; to breathe.
There is something coming
out of the summer fog.

It abrades the full bellies
of ill clouds which burst

into sloughing rain slices
that slush and slide in soft slips

& slurs as it slouches
through the soak and sinks

sodden and silent and spent
to the wet-stunned cement stub.

Then, a pause - and it is already gone:
a visitation from an unwanted memory.

Shadows rise and suddenly fall
from slick brick gibbets:

cars throw stray starry bars
of slim dim shine from their teeth.

A palace of broken fog
escapes into the east,

leaving a black tabletop stain
fading slowly on the brain.
 Sep 2022 Cristina Dean
 Sep 2022 Cristina Dean
I run to you
your rhythm, your beat

for a moment they're mine
and we breathe together,

I run to you
your hunger, your need

for a moment they're mine
and we cleave together,

I run to you
your sweet-wet, your greed

for a moment they're mine
and we feed together,
We didn't quite think it through,
did we now?

We just pushed that harrow
even when the fields were underwater.

Now the wires bring us
the yes-no grammar of old love.

Lewd sun, cloud-tumble,
violets dying in the loam:

images lashed to the lens,
the loom, the wine-weave

of the eye... well,
we held on for a while.
 Aug 2021 Cristina Dean
 Aug 2021 Cristina Dean
I hear from no-one about
The things that matter
Steadfastly alone in my tower
Above the Lake
The cycle of mourning begins

No money! No time! No love!
There’s food but
No appetite
There’s presence but
No wild nights! Wild nights —
I wish I’d never
Heard of such things

Please help me
Help me see
Help me elevate
Set my heart free
So much to get on with, so many more important things to do than sitting around being hung up on you. Or not.
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