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Where she would go,
I would go;
where she would speak,
I would listen,
my ears hanging on
to her every word
like a leech on flesh.

Where she would lay,
I would lay;
where she would kiss,
I would kiss,
my lips blessing
each particle of flesh
like a priest's blessing
on a penitent's soul.

But she goes alone,
and I not follow;
she speaks in a tongue
that fails my ears,
she lies with others,
I do not know,
she kisses other lips
or flesh, not mine,
and my lips are idle
and kiss not
her lips, nor flesh,
and I must lie
alone in my bed,
and saddened,
make love in my head.
Terry Collett
Written by
Terry Collett  71/M/England
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