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Warmth

Only when I meet your heat

Do I realise I’m cold.

But I don’t want your love

I want to be 12 years old

Lying under my window

Breathing in sunshine

A book on my knee

And hair like tangled vines.

I want to hear the birds chitter

Like the crackles of a fire

Whilst my young brain

Lets time heavily pour

With no perception

Of its weighty toll.

I don’t want your loving warmth

I want the heat of a childish summer.



Benjamin Bowers is a full-time student from the North-West of England.

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