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Poetry > A Geography of the Heart

Some Baby's Knocking at my Fleshly Door

In the crush of first lust
surrounded by foggy mirrors
images repeat endlessly
on the same old theme
reducing in size, revealing less & less
the deeper we peer: words echo each other
without resonance or reverberation,
swimming, struggling to the surface
of their true intent.

Making new ties, one self
tangles a net of self-doubt,
muddling for safe anchorage;
the other weaves sensuality,
drifting towards green surrender.

Always the problem of how to see
through anothers eyes: burdened
with joy, falling into the future
needs that go clash in the night.

Published on 13/01/2014

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  L. A. Wolanskyj

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