Mirage, or, On the Topic of Romance

Have I ever stopped to appreciate

The soft dip and curve of your hips?

The ridges on your thighs?

The image of you, painted pale in perfect light?

 

Have I ever sang your praises,

My gentle, fragile azalea?

How your voice floats across the fields

And seeps into my soul?

 

Forgive me if I have been absent,

It seems these days that people

Do not take kindly to loving

Somebody you have never met.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My country
Our world

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