Bedstraw

Come a little closer,
A thousand scattered pieces
of fragile glass, sold

The farther off, the closer,
the former fire in your furious eye,

mine,

I've left you cold

Your present is my future and my past
I recognise the scent of salty seagrass fused with
hampered wild consent
Your youth is old.

the mystery of 'times to last'
Let fire conquer and let's misbehave
for no story can be, foretold.

- Litage

Scribble from a few days ago.