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Sep 2013
My first, my only, my true
What I am missing in myself
Is what I see in you
Our last days were not kind
Many words were lashed in haste
False I was in mind
Yearning for what I left behind
I lay now on this barren field
Gazing upon the stars of discontent
Deepening blackness will not yield
The easterly wind still carries your scent
Charles Casanova
Written by
Charles Casanova  N.Y.C
(N.Y.C)   
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