There is a dream that travels down my spine,

Nails clicking against the bone, silence enveloping

The foreign footsteps towards a brooding city and scissors

Gliding across the sunshine. You limp through me, chewing

Reinvented roots. Your knees climb through me like a

Stomachache, standing still, and I want to transform the cramps

Into a fantasy and find my voice in your well, reflecting the face

Of fulfilment in the cold harboured water below us both.

Portrait_of_Nadezhda_Zabela-Vrubel_1904

“Portrait of Nadezhda Zabela-Vrubel” by Mikhail Vrubel (1856-1910)

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