Saturday, 7 January 2012


Within 36 hours of my message to her in an internet chat,
She appears before me in chat box with her poems of love,
That is her passion and her density of near fusion and collagen,
And warns me not to telephone her as she is in another charm,
And she explains me she is moon not in my waving terms,
And she thinks me to be a trembling leave on a cross section,
That is not her choice of rest to cool her pleasure and love,
And she makes me aware of costly call rates and payments,
That she does not want, and wishes my living simple in my pattern,
She prefers me to be with my springs and shelters in my home,
That she wants to be bright and full with love, it is an acidic prevent,
That I think of her, and I know she is on another journey
In life of cellular space that lives with her, and nearly holds her.

It will be unwise for me to make her warn about her dream of me,
As her love routs are hacked by an unknown worm, brighter than me,
And my pages are white that cannot create the charm by hands and lips,
And I live in her memory of her beauty of love and divinity alongside.
I love her, most of my heart does bear pain, and I write on her wall,

Her arms are so gentle with her heart,
the context that blooms her love,
its care and loving face to adore and read,
love is life in her beauty and dream-eyes,
in the gesture of her fame and divine treat,
a lovely love heroine to harmonize love,
I love her in her gentle lips of living touch,
I love it.

She is woman of love, and raises no cognizance of my love.

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