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You were never there Of course. She was born Too early or you too late. But she was a beautiful Dame, you think, turning Over pages, gazing at her Photographs, imagining Her lips to kiss, her arms To caress, her soft ******* Your pillows and what she Was like in bed (alive that Is not dead). However, she Died too soon, way before Your time. Old enough to Have been your grandmother Had she lived and had her time. Too bad. She could have been The best **** you never had. But Harlow’s just a dream, A useless thought, just a memory Now in books and old guy’s heads Who may or not have shared their Beds. You were never there, but if You had and the gods had been Quite kind and let you meet and Kiss and **** and love and live To old age, you could have lived it All and not have scribed the page.
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Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 8:44 AM UTC
ON HARLOW. (OLD POEM)
You were never there Of course. She was born Too early or you too late. But she was a beautiful Dame, you think, turning Over pages, gazing at her Photographs, imagining Her lips to kiss, her arms To caress, her soft ******* Your pillows and what she Was like in bed (alive that Is not dead). However, she Died too soon, way before Your time. Old enough to Have been your grandmother Had she lived and had her time. Too bad. She could have been The best **** you never had. But Harlow’s just a dream, A useless thought, just a memory Now in books and old guy’s heads Who may or not have shared their Beds. You were never there, but if You had and the gods had been Quite kind and let you meet and Kiss and **** and love and live To old age, you could have lived it All and not have scribed the page.
A POEM ON JEAN HARLOW.
TerryCollett
Written by
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 8:44 AM UTC
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