So pale his cheek, paper cool his touch.
His shadow deep
crueller than winter’s frost.

Blood of the living feeds my lover –

my sadistic brother,

my him and me.

©Louise Hastings 2011

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Bio:
Someone told me that I should write it all down, get all that turmoil out of my head. And it worked, even better than therapy did. In the process, I discovered a joy with wordplay and poetry, and now I couldn’t stop even if I’d wanted to.

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Wings Over Water