If I think of a poem
as I take the next step
on the stairs of my home,
I will fall to my death
and you’ll never have known
that I loved you the best,
because I lost that poem
when I missed the next step.
Photo: Traditional eve of Mayday bouquet on doorstep
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Author: Stephen Moran
I was born in Dublin and made my way to London on a bike in my mid-twenties. It’s where I can still be found though ever further out, most recently as far as Harrow. I no longer own a bicycle.
View all posts by Stephen Moran