The Offence

If little did I ever knew

Of this certain offence

I won’t have avoided

The eternal unknowingly dense.

A world within the world

Plethora of me-you felt

In a crowd of Arctic lads

You stood alone a Celt.

A burden of strange senses

Which smashed my knight soul

A heart free of feelings

Waited for you the dole.

My eyes were loud indeed

Avoiding the smirk of vocals

A certain charm and bright

In the wrecked evening locals.

A ‘Not So Precise’ precise on me

Is it all gone?

Or maybe I should live

Feeding over the halcyon……


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