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Shaunna Harper Shaunna Harper
Recommendations: 35


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soul mates

Something reaches out to me,
anxiously, a slow, shy shadow
that doesn't belong here in the light,
and gives me false faith,
tries to put me right.
With hands like winter wind,
hard, sharp, it gives me voice.
I admit, finally, my love for you.
The house gives approval with a shake
of the outside rain;
in a bitter flurry,
Valentine's comes and goes,
melts, warps, like the snow
in rising sunshine.
The only love that thrives in this home
shouts at me from the television.
The windows grow eyes, the doors
become mouths, there is life
inside the stagnant,
living thought behind silence.
This month is one long bad mood.

I go outside,
where everything is tinged pink.
Newly entwined lovers are toasting
with a drink. The world inside my eyes
is so dark I hope it will consume me.
I can't see, let alone think.
The newspapers are trying to
persuade me to go on a date
with GSOH, aged forty-two;
it could be fate.
IT specialist, enjoys sushi and sci-fi.
Your Guide to Finding Mr. Right!
I turn, bare cold teeth
in a mad, frozen half-laugh
and go home.

Something seduces me under the guise
of your hands, your lips;
you, perhaps, clamped
like a vice between my hips,
all pieces becoming whole
in my mind. Something, weak with
unrealised life, attempts to steal me,
fool me. I know you are not real,
merely remembered memories
in shadow, lost.
This slow love, stagnant,
is too far to reach. I write
disposable letters in the air
that light the night
like fireworks, marvelling at the
brightness of my miracle touch.

This is too much.
I am late, out of time,
desperate, dying, obdurate.
Won't you return, be my Valentine?
Don't you miss these horrid ways of mine?

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