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Sam Lawrence Aug 19
I thought it was you,
but I wasn't certain.
One last glance back,
your sunbed definitely empty,
  towel crumpled / empty shell
I follow you out to sea.

Squinting; without glasses
I cannot tell if it's you.
Your head bobbing.

Alone.

The hazy afternoon sun
creates dancing ripples
of horizontal light.
As I swim nearer,
still uncertain,
I see you - but you as a boy.

Suddenly, I feel the same intense love
I felt when little you would stumble
back into my open arms
  laughing / crying / needing
needing me.

I reach you, but I see
the fine young man
you have become.

Floating together,
smiling at one another,
I am filled with a sad pride;
family holidays were always too short.
Sam Lawrence Aug 16
I'm in Italy once again, my love.
But why is there no architecture?
Endlessly winding, the streets narrow
until the cars can no longer turn.
Did we come here? I easily forget.
All my pasts return to haunt me;
shambling, drunk creature, I dared
to love. Now the heat makes the
veins swell beneath my upturned
hands. I wonder what became of you?
Timidity hid you, even then. Only now,
I truly appreciate your fading smile.
Sam Lawrence Jul 18
the rain falls against my window
the rain doesn't fall against my window
I am inside
I am outside
I am inside and the rain isn't falling against my window
I am outside and the rain isn't falling against my window
I am outside and the rain is falling on me
I am inside and the rain is falling on me
I am outside and I am wet
I am inside and I am dry
I am outside and I am dry
I am inside and I am wet
it isn't my window
the rain isn't falling
it isn't raining
the is no window
there is no rain
there is no falling
there is nothing
Sam Lawrence May 16
As I lie in bed, I hear the street;
the cars that pass like waves,
the pavement tapped
by rhythmic feet.
And by my side, my love lies still.
Her gentle breath, as slow as breeze,
beneath the humming of an aeroplane.
Above us all, the arching skies
stretch further than our heavy limbs,
can ever dream of traveling.
Sam Lawrence May 14
Underneath a trestle table, the sagging
boxes sit; their edges gently tearing
with the leaning piles of books.
And every book is bending.
And every page is worn.
And the words inside
are cluttered now
- like the mind
that stacked
them there.
Sam Lawrence May 11
In deep ground,
where other bones
lie very still. Or
under a twisted

soil wrapped root,
from a tree too tall
to fall, until the day
it does. Long

shadows are broken
sticks that snap;
over a floor, across
a crumbled wall.
Sam Lawrence Feb 6
Here, beneath my ribs;
underneath the chewy strands,
my lanky ambitions, naked
without sense. As a finger
held to thumb, between
a petalled gift. Kiss each
inch of me. Make me sigh.
Roll me only when I'm dead.
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