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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

For Love

A day for love
between half past four
and five,
when the heart remembers
hunger,
needing to be fed.
Glimmering
in the dark horizon
of her eyes,
returning from the blackness
of a cave,
uneasy sleep.

Rainy day
when time
settles like a folded wing,
hair trailed on her cheeks,
fingers entangling words
into its curls.
Rapture,
intent as a tiger’s gaze,
sensuous,
day done,
love vanishing
between our lips
in sighs.

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