Your eyes follow me to the gate you locked and over the fence, like a guilty teenager - The path peers into into a pearly oasis; veers and reflects its stretching vanity - Who does that remind you of?
Pithy branches hung over like grey hair, pepper, instant coffee, a bottle of gin -
Falling in as I finally climb out on weak little bones and scratchy muscles; Were you waiting, hiding, hounding the minutes like a great black growth in the shrubbery?
Tell me honestly - Who does that remind you of?
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