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wildplums's Journal

Thom Coverly
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furious rose, with your opiate eyes

lyrically longing, she's tearing the words from the page
she's fearfully seething
'bring me your blessings, a prayer, or a new pen
- you don't know what I need.'

and I'm barely balancing as it is,
and I don't want to drown in my dreams
bring me wild plums, wild plums and agrimony
I bet you don't even know what that means

furious rose, with your opiate eyes.
and your languorous hum, that tone of surprise
I've heard the energy in adversity
your smile: the soul of witchery
you're not running away,
you're not running - are you?

bright young things

foreign academics

la vie en rose

all the umbrellas in london

oh, rose, you're sad i suppose