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Affly Johnson

in winter when the ice-cream comets
fret the beetles you seek the organic
muddy carrots and the bare bones of things
I start   as the younger hunter
possesses your skin
the pullus in a store cupboard nest
perpetually in a state of eat
biting the pastry arches of our home
I bring you grains in my boots but find sugar
paper stuffed under piles of your sweaters
Across the pea-podded courtyard you bare your teeth
and run for me   sliding
I’ve hidden your spikiest
shoes encasing your sneezes
After the shortest day
you can open your briefcase to
catch my seasickness
we eat chips and watch
the white blush of crocuses propped
up on your barrow full of onions

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