Life waits inside us

Like a Sunday morning
peeling back light
to find a winter sky
drowned by dull rain
and driftwood stars
gathered at the window
you think perhaps
you should let them in
these damp stars, that once
you wished upon
on another Sunday, summer
huddled in the dunes
moulded skin to skin
to your midnight lover
no, close the curtains
stop and think
how long it takes
for stars to dry out
to cease their drip, drip, drip.

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