VIEWS
26th.august.2016
Looking up
to a mulled moon
mixed with watery clouds
falling
drunk stars
spinning
spinning
as words echo
in our room
in this ancient
English city,
is poetry
so crazy?
when wine distorts
every hour,
shake of heads
walk outside
wet with autumn
goodbye comes
then an ocean apart
our books connected
by verse strings
we count, we read
every evening
looking at views wherever
we are at…
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