Jun 2015
Am i allowed to write this book
though the language is not my own?
Am I allowed to walk through blossoms
from the trees your father has grown?
Am I allowed to slip my tongue
in the space behind your heart
where the flag of love lifts in the opening dark?
though the language is not my own?
Am I allowed to walk through blossoms
from the trees your father has grown?
Am I allowed to slip my tongue
in the space behind your heart
where the flag of love lifts in the opening dark?
*Written by a charming steampunk lady with a typewriter running a poetry stall called 'Poetry While You Wait', Otago Farmers Market, 23/03/2013
