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your heart is just a pump, love
and if I broke that
you’d be dead, but you’re not      ..
write poems on beer mats in the pub
they’re not particularly good
but it passes an afternoon
could tell you were disappointed,
but then,
you tell it so much better   ..
used to hit the keys
on that old type writer
until it eventually gave in
and said what I wanted
it’s here
your
underwear
you left
it     ..
I want to hear your voice
above all else, so shout, my
love, shout my love !
you get that little puff
of air
as the tube train doors
open

it’s no wonder they
gasp
those ghosts who drag open
the doors
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