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January 2014, vol 9, no 4

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Violette Rose-Jones

Mutual Perfidy

his skin is earth coloured tastes of sea salt the scent of violets drifts in from the white cedar outside in the darkness he pushes against me heated by sleep.

a chained up husky
the moon behind a cloud

an abrasive chin brushes again my nape... will you? will I what?… I smile in the dark my hand then his hand going lower wind flutters the curtain against my back tickling fingers of white lace he says he loves me out loud the hollow sound of the wind sweeping under the eaves as my lips remain still.

amongst tall corn
the call of a startled plover:
white daybreak