GloMag GloMagMarch2019 - Page 270

Its navel lint, slightly silky rubs against my privileged indifference Cross legged my defences squat juggling mischoices Free air breathes me into its pockets The green light waits. It is right but I am not convinced It is not a leaf-shade-pond-shadow green Your hand raised in anticipation of being clasped is clean. It is the spotless dream this careful city honks away All that is left is not right 270