For Peter Lake.   I still see you — haze of tweed, loafers, and cake running towards the pub, rain pelting your back, hair already fading white when I blew out the candles how does it feel to be young; I could not answer   that night — noise, free beers, every man watching me…

This content is for Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription, Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription and Basic Member members.
Log In Register
%d bloggers like this: