Set List Poem 16/03/2015

You’re asking me about my vices while you spark hand-fire,
I’m hiding four layers into Dad’s jacket, my skin a magnet

to the passing train,
my body, a tear in light,
leaving silhouettes,

a dark burn on the rose-bleached pavement swallowing the rain.
I hang my heart-shape answer on the hook in your finger.

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