Harold Pinter


Paris - Poem by Harold Pinter

The curtain white in folds,
She walks two steps and turns,
The curtain still, the light
Staggers in her eyes.
The lamps are golden.
Afternoon leans, silently.
She dances in my life.
The white day burns.


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Poem Edited: Tuesday, January 14, 2014


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