Waiting
See through cellophane thoughts
of a certain cerulean sentiment
unfolds hollow clouds of multiplicity.
I am barely clad in this marked language.
Who are you to challenge my appearance?
Night after night I scratch origin
daring spectre recall to dance with me.
Night after night my proverbial nerve
longs for love's plain sensation
at night's dark pro tem table's throng.
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2006-01-29 at 00:14
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Zoya Zaidi |
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by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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