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  • One 27 November 2014
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Ferment

Your love,
without relief of occasional plosive hi-howya-doin’s,
without punctuation of kisses
or hugs,
feels like
a maelstrom.
Its whirling me,
its force
in ferment,
takes me
to uneasy places,
when I’d rather be by you
simply
listening to your voice
like still,
soft water.

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Posted on 18 March 20144 November 2014Author hgquinnCategories .. Sirf tere liye .., '14, originals, poems, the heather garden

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