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Jul 2020
I imagine the sound of your
voice, the words you spoke
of love that linger  echoing
in my quiet corners of time.

I miss you in the sense
that separate from you
I am no longer whole:
only part of a poem
sketched in the sky, forming
for your eyes only to read.  

I am not of the passionate kind:
I love too softly, too shyly,
mostly a  little too deeply.
Still: soothed by touches of your
remote hands - I rest content.

anthony Brady
Written by
anthony Brady  79/M/Co. Fermanagh. N. Ireland
(79/M/Co. Fermanagh. N. Ireland)   
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