Crisp. Clean. White, like your mind. no dark places pillars to hide behind no shades of grey silver tongued our lives on your lips as you read, cool and calm the latest North to South Ours a street cafe with the volume drowned a squabble of traders , hubbub of hats from time to time masking your face just your eyes, always talking to me, beauty untouched without the sound Are we foreign again ? a death measured by how many Brits were sadly on board a careless coach , going straight on a curve or a famous face in a glamorous pose a leading light lost to the world sadly and suddenly a miss missed tho’ slipped for years perhaps it’s a panda last years news , papa at last , doing, finally what pandas should … Whatever you trade, whoever you hold, wherever you look, I’ll be there, my love, silent too
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