No blinding light only the wariness
of the daily fracture
Croydon how I wish it was goodbye
you lost your voice  a long time ago.
I  remember how our played  out rendezvous
stripped away the pretense
I have often thought of candle light as a masquerade
flickering like a contestant
and the only cure is the drifting Coombe Woods
where I  can hide under those autumnal leaves,
finally letting it go.











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