Monday, 22 August 2016

Imogen Imagined

We made
 I love you signs
through panes of glass,
a woman scorned,
is a small
child mourned
Pained,
I left,
at the policemans request
Four years of memories
cherished,
no rights,
despite fights in courts
Accused
to my amusement,
of frightful acts
Repeatedly beaten down
the crown has no power
against
glowering showers
of shit
Your tiny hand
in mine,
sublime
Making you laugh
washing your hair
in the bath
At the end
let's pretend
that justice prevailed
but
hands tied
I'm thrown in the tide,
grief
clutching my throat,
after the last boat
has sailed

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