Anchor.Kite, Marilyn, It is eighteen years ago, The sky whitens as if lit by three suns, Mapping the furrow exactly, You at the zero end, stamping stars from the wrong pavement, I decide to do it free, without a rope or net, I wanted the bold girl in Portobello, two floors below your fingertips still pinch, The horse strained at his clicking tongue, Her hair, the colour of wheat, takes on the light, That hesitant figure, eddying away, I've had worse partings.

Love & Relationship - Family relationships

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