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Dec 2013
Your long blonde curls
The Labyrinth my hands can't wait
To travel through to find your waist
As we start to unfurl

Your soft pale hands
Sensually finding their way to mine.
Making my wrist lose track of time
If onlyΒ Β could have been a man

For those dreams happened in my head
Because I was more scared
For the actual love we shared

I'm glad those days are dead
Well, almost there
Because I want you to be mine, never to share
This is a revision of a Petrarchan Sonnet I wrote for class. This is probably one of my favorite poems I have ever written.
Nathaniel R Horn
Written by
Nathaniel R Horn  Indianapolis
(Indianapolis)   
622
 
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