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￭ Echoes of the Past, Voices of the Present: A Comparative Study of 14th and 20th Century Poetry
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2008-12-21 | |
I don't know how many eyelashes your eyes are having
or how many stripes, beautifully drawn,
you have embedded on your sometimes dry lips,
I have no idea why your hair tastes as cherries
or why you don't leave any folds anywhere you'd sit.
I once asked myself
where do you take your air from, so I could vaporize
for you to breathe me while you're sleeping,
so I 'd fall asleep with you, in a ghostly a-swing.
I don't know in what octave your voice fits
but my mind, escapes into a large and empty room,
full of sunny windows,
from where it listens to it
as a concert of the nature.
I don't know how to place the words into a necklace
that would suit you perfectly
or to send them to dress you up in absolute love,
I have no clue about karma's sacred ways
but I want to sew you on my body,
to melt with you in an alloy
as tough as a pyramid.
P.S. I know you broke a glass. I know I carry a sharp stub, with the print of your lips, in my chest pocket. I know I have my heart red of love.
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