Where are you?

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  • Lost Love

    Where are you?

    This morning with coffee cup in hand,
    I stood on my patio in the warm pouring rain.
    I tried to find you, I could swear I smelled you
    In the undulating wet leaves of a maple tree,

    I heard your breathe in the whimpering wind
    and I felt your fingers running down my neck,
    Softly caressing my arms
    As you stood behind me enfolding me in your strong arms so many times,
    I swear I could smell you and that I saw the flecks of your eyes in the lightening that shot across the sky, but I could not catch your smile.
    Where did you go?

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    kittyginer04’s Poems (5)

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    Where are you? 0
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