latitude (Remove filter)
At The Grave Of St Valentine
there's a point on the map when
doubts and desapir veer to meet
and idly parade nowhere down a
lonely slum of a one-way street
no compass charts this latitude
where time gross reality bends
for its a quarter of lifeless loss
the geography where love ends
I've drifted here so many times
its memories my endless bane
before me for I sense a reprise
I am sure...
Sunday 14th February 2021 11:16 am
Recent Comments
Auracle on EVEN THE OLIVES WERE BLEEDING
14 minutes ago
Red Brick Keshner on ashes from your urn
37 minutes ago
David RL Moore on ashes from your urn
1 hour ago
David RL Moore on War in Season
1 hour ago
Stephen Gospage on MEALS ON WHEELS
2 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on Donkey Jacket
2 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on EVEN THE OLIVES WERE BLEEDING
2 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on IT AIN'T ME, BABE
2 hours ago
Pragya Pal on Why not
6 hours ago
TobaniNataiella on Nothing Has Changed
9 hours ago