Remembering
Remembering,I am wrapped in the scent of you
and how it was to be sleeping so close
that the warmth of your skin
reached mine.
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Unknown Source
1949writer’s Poems (3)
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Remembering | 0 | 10/12/2009 |
| There are spirits | 2 | 10/12/2009 |
| Edges | 1 | 10/12/2009 |
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