• Lost Love


    Your hair, like night against my skin, deep, dark, fluid


    Your breath, like


    Your hands, like


    Your caress, like


    Your laugh, like


    Your gaze, like


    So long since I’ve had the pleasure of your hair, your breath, your hands, your caress against my skin


    To hear your laughter and sense your gaze.  Experience the intensity of your love for me.


    Why did you go?  Where did you go?  I miss you so much.

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    Sodade’s Poems (10)

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