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The Woodsmen

when we were kissing under your umbrella...
in another country, where grey loomed among us,
tears so lonely and isolated and a-lingering...
so perfect yet out of place on your cheek.
the back stairwell and a kiss,
standing there where no-one else ever had:
wet lips...
and someone is standing at the edge of a dark grey river,
and theyre throwing in coins.
and someone is starting to row across
from much too far away.