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Aug 2016
These velvet streets will miss us
when we’re gone from their view.
The fog that fills up behind us comes from nowhere;
my vision is clearer than ever.
You count on one hand and can’t make seven
mathematics means nothing off the paper.
It’s quite probable we mean nothing, too.
I stare at the ceiling and forget about the dishes
I wonder if I ever thought about the dishes.
I’ve always been somewhere else but, God,
I love these velvet streets.
and these velvet streets will miss us
when we count further than they can.
Martha O'Brien
Written by
Martha O'Brien  UK
(UK)   
344
 
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