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Ask what fate is to dandelions,
For I am clumsy, loving you,
Peeking when was asked to dream,
Glad seeing you.

I am no cloud, no air, no wind,
And balloons have long fled from my wrist
Touching the convoluted power lines somewhere
In the rural south of my country.
But I hold your hand with my hand, so light,
Like the line of a kite, too high to make a run for,
That I cannot state with words, with poems
What's so heavenly about it
Or without it that is about you, except
As such, this mutual touch.

I chased a single drop
Not knowing what will hit me.
I'm drenched, soaked all over.
Rain poured down, heavily.
I gain what's unexpected,
And love...is undeserved.*

© 2015 J.S.P.
Draft.
***
he taught dead languages
with a passion
that made her so alive
- ancient dawns
across new skies
syllables rhyming
in the dark

creased pages
corners upturned
whispers of pencils
whispers of rains

trailing long fingers
down memory lanes
writing letters
on window panes
perfection can be subjective
you are perfect in my eyes
i will be your piece of meat
your sudden pawn of compromise

preferences are not elected
it's a feeling of larger size
better judgement takes a seat
while impulses take the prize
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