Love in Seventeen Syllables.
By Ewan
Wed, 13 May 2009
- 1008 reads
Love burns like newsprint:
fast, hot and leaving blackened
phrases in the wind.
Three points connected
preclude a binary choice:
there are no switches.
Rolling with the waves,
down counterpoints up: we
stay near the lifebelts.
Shelley's souls meet in
our kisses, our lips encoding
still secret wishes.
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