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Poetry – “Night on the Sill”

Night on the Sill

Still and unborn static lie in front of my ever wandering,
Crackle and whirl around like constrained wet sheets,
Dripping, weighing down the exact, and pulling
wet fibres of my molten landscape.
Foreign pink hues superimposed onto dark
bases, romanticising, dulling the true sharp edge,
Press into my bone until we are one and the same,
Capture my soul, make me shiver in my
unknown solitary space,
Seek to mend the disillusioned
Spirit away~