was the ground’ the sound in my
bones as the clock goes
---
Come here, Rebecca,
(your Sunday morning nipples)
let us start again
---
there is nothing in
the dark—just Summer edging
back to her Winter
---
Red wine, I love you;
let’s make friends and move to the
middle of nowhere
---
though my mum would cry,
I welcome you, your darkness,
and all this no more
---
a pineapple; a
coil of rope; a shade of blue;
photographed by her
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