Summer Fling

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  • Love

    Summer Fling

    The old fan across your mattress
    snores like a lounge drunk
    overnights, in your apartment

    And on sunny mornings
    you're blushing with goosebumps
    as sheets are blown off the bed

    By late afternoon
    you have a sunset's glow:
    your neck draped in pearls and beads of sweat

    Somewhere deep in August
    you are wondering
    if we will ever cool off

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    terrapin91’s Poems (2)

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    Summer Fling 0
    You had to be there 0