Lonely Planets

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Your eyes are not blue suns on
a distant planet they are all
that is left of me in this barren land
Your hard cover and tiny letters
is all I’ve got to work with
I think you might be some kind of
ancient songbook and your fingering is precise
as you practise those minor scales
up and down my spine

I push your belly button gently with my lips
and you shiver with something that is more
than lust as you whisper the names of all the
butterflies circling round and round
eating the sleep out of our eyes

Soon the sun will be drilling a hole in the moon
and the pulse cannon will explode
into orange laughter
but now
in the flickering light of our trembling skin
I can only see your blue eyes
fading into the sunset
of my distant shores

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