Dream a little dream
poison and passion
lace and lime coloured linen.
We crossed the meadow between us
in a slanted stride,
only whisky and lilac wine between us now.
You fell into me
with weary eyes and twisted sense,
skin upon skin
as night sketched us together.
If only this were more than a bitter memory to me;
Skelton of the man that I once knew.
All that remains now…
the faint smell of alcohol.
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” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”