you write
that you are ill
feverishin some narrow
foreign bed
tangledin dim
damp sheets
sun steamingthrough a dingy
window
and I hopethat you are not
entangled so
alonewhat cannot
be held must be
freely given
a poet’s notebook
you write
that you are ill
feverishin some narrow
foreign bed
tangledin dim
damp sheets
sun steamingthrough a dingy
window
and I hopethat you are not
entangled so
alonewhat cannot
be held must be
freely given
lovely… if only i could weave emotions into words half as well.
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