(Silvia, 24th of February 2020, Greenwich)
In the black spring
The earth shuns the rain
Like a child who refuses to drink
Behind glass walls
Love is a faded artefact
At the museum
The throat singer grunts and heaves
With such menacing eroticism
Yet I have no voice.
My thoughts are like explorers lost
In the frozen North
Have I replaced you with false memories
Of hunting caribou and arctic rabbit?
Do you still have a face?
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