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© BSWink - London

I Forgot

We’ve been here

before.

There’s a spill of

lemon juice

on my fingers

There are cuts across

my hands.

Thunder applauds

my efforts,

and I can’t feel my tongue.

Why can’t I feel my tongue?

Lambs lie down.

Adders get up in

the evening and

There’s a sting

of you.

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