Sunday, July 31, 2016

Valentine to Myself

You still think you can play
With the gods give them some
Of their own medicine don’t you
Laughter and gladness of lungs
Filling them with the chuckles
As if you tickled their toes
With your coy pretensions
And sentimental ploys
They still want you to keep
Up the search for the lost ways
To the holy places of the heart
The old meeting places
On the lakes of the stars
Or even in some bars
Familiar forlorn

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