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One of the ancients,once said that poetry is "the mirror of the perfect soul." Instead of simply writing down travel notes or, not really thinking about the consequences, expressing your thoughts, memories or on paper, the poetic soul needs to seriously work hard to clothe the perfect content in an even more perfect poetic form.
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What is poetry?


Reading books RomanceThe unity of form and content is what distinguishes poetry from other areas of creativity. However, this is precisely what titanic work implies.
Not every citizen can become a poet. If almost every one of us, at different times, under the influence of certain reasons or trends, was engaged in writing his thoughts, then it is unlikely that the vast majority will be able to admit to themselves that they are a poet.
Genre of poetry touches such strings in the human soul, the existence of which a person either didn’t suspect, or lowered them to the very bottom, intending to give them delight.


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Read books online » Poetry » Go To Your Window by Patrick Sean Lee (different e readers .TXT) 📖

Book online «Go To Your Window by Patrick Sean Lee (different e readers .TXT) 📖». Author Patrick Sean Lee



Go To Your Window


Go to your window, precious love.
Can you see me?
Look closely. I am there floating helplessly by.
My lips are moving, calling—but do you notice?
They search for your fingertips again.

How I long to brush my mouth across them,
Hold them captive with gentlest kisses.

Oh, call out, This way! I am here!
Take hold of me—I’ve shattered the glass.
For you, lovely one, for you.
My hands are near you, take hold!
Touch them. Kiss them.



How many years, how much despair,
In blind and futile wandering, alone?

I feel as though I am in a cloud;
Blind, deaf, unable to move
Except at its whim.
I have called for you, but no sound
Escapes my locked and feverish throat.

How I crave the healing of your voice,
Open my ears with the breath of your words.

I’ve called. I call. I entreat you in darkness—
Cold, alone, disconnected, moving upward, now.
No…no, downward. Oh, I cannot tell.
I am blind. I am mute. Near to dying,
Desperately in search of you.

Lift my lifeless ghost from abandoned hope,
Become my flesh and golden path.

I know that even with eyes stolen by your beauty,
Words hidden in the mist of separation,
Your sighing trapped in a silence
By some mysterious cruelty,
I will find you. I will happen upon your window.

Do you see love’s brilliant sunrise?
Azure eyes that color my pale firmament?

Go to your window, precious lover.
Find me. Reach out!
I am deathly naked, floating somewhere near you,
Searching for your arms, your fingertips,
Sighing for your stomach…

How I long to brush my tongue across you,
Taste the sweetness of your perfect skin once more.

Shatter the distance between us.
Reach out, find me…I am near.
Say to me, Here is that which you desire.
Here I am. Touch me—take my hands in yours,
Touch me with your soft mouth.



My reply to you is passion, sweet lover,
An immensity of intertwining longings.

The glass has vanished. Find my hands.
They’ll swim the rivers of your body freely,
Easily, like fish, or children’s tiny boats atop you,
Rushing to remember every current,
Every turn, each cataract delightfully exciting.

I hear. Your ears drop their hundredweights—
The music of my voice releases you.



Whisper, whisper, Place your hands on my skin.
Feel me—I shudder with infinite desire.
Your fingertips move my breasts,
Your soft lips awaken my thighs—
I am captured by an awakened fire.



The glass has vanished. I alight, softly.
I let your fingertips find my lips.

Imprint

Text: (c) Patrick Sean Lee, 2011
Publication Date: 02-14-2011

All Rights Reserved

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