Trafika Europe 9/10 - UK in Europe

12 Poems

Hair Your polished racehorse hair leaves me churning with envy. Mine, conversely, seems to heave into acquiescence and yet, when I look more closely into the mirror there is a girl; with sea matted hair who runs at the tide edge and makes rafts out of driftwood with yellow oat grass hair who lingers with beetles in the wild moor meadow with sand gritty desert hair where the Pleiades shine and illuminate her dark places

who is beautiful.

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