Leah
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Leah
Sleepless nights spent
Dreaming.
Floating on breezes exhaled
hours prior.
Oh to be a breeze lying on her
moving gently, deliberately;
an invisible hand caressing
silken threads.
Timeless wisps of safety
enduring ages and striking
the very heart of man.
Shoulder length calm like stillness.
Empty space - infinite, complete,
perfect.
What place in this perfection
have I?
Interaction forever changes
the object of affection...
Heisenberg be damned!
Just as the electron joins an atom
so to do I forever change her.
Should I
become part of her world?
Perfection spoiled
or
perfection perfected?
A selfish, penetrative act
of love not unrequited
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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.