Charlotte Yates - Mad

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I'm too early I wait the long slow minutes out My breath inheld, ready To balloon up into a high, but for the slow Exhalation of my excitement as you turn Into the magic avenue of trees - your hand Held out to me - your hand To my multiple infractions - Awarenessnes Of coin-silver leaves turning a-squint in air Muffled footfalls on the footpath Your naked ankles twinkling in the autumn light I close the distance between us As quickly As fog does boiling in From the inner harbour inexorably As the thunder and beat of train-wheels Flashing past a tiny country station just Standing there aghast and quite Inexplicably shaken and lost and Without say Well, that is how you infect me: mad ay?
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