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Sep 2016
I met her through her brother.

He was a self-proclaimed anarchist activist,
But it was in her eyes, that I saw freedom.

We drank under bridges.
We screamed at the moon.
We ****** until dawn.

And then she was gone.
And years went by.

And then she was here.
Returned from Brussels.
Speaking a new kind of language in a new tongue.
Once again, her eyes spoke of adventure, and her tongue tasted
     of travel.
I felt new winds, devoured new poems, and experiences new
     thoughts in her kisses.
We tried to stay in touch, and we managed to for a couple of breaths.
And then, I was gone.
And years went by.

We met again a few months ago.
We're both different now.
It's been ten years.

We speak less now than we did before,
But we say more.
We've both learned the art of poetry,
and not everything has to be coarse.

I can sit quietly in a car with her, and twirl my fingers between hers,
and she can hear everything I'm not saying.
I can lay in bed with her, listening to our bodies listen to each other,
and I can breathe again.

Because I know,
This isn't so much a ode to a girl, as it is an ode to how our love has grown through out the years. We may not be together, but we understand each other.Β Β And sometimes I think that's more than most couples ever get.
Eric L Warner
Written by
Eric L Warner  Saint Paul, MN
(Saint Paul, MN)   
   --- and its gonna make sense
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