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Johann Botha Jul 2014
i imagine i watch you,
walking barefoot
through the afternoon

your hem dances,
sings the rhythm of your feet,
you smile
at wonder that rushes you with small hands

you drink it in to give yourself

there is a gull-down sadness folded in your beauty

a blue tenderness in the lilt of your wrists

a lock of hair to lift from your cheek

and those brown eyes

— The End —