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Robin Lemmen Nov 2018
Maybe I do, hope for you to one day read this.

And if you do, know that I did think about our could have been's. The conversations that would have created, deep-rooted storms inside of me. Intrigued by the glimmer in your eyes and the way your bones seemed to be pages full of stories. How I would have loved to read them, explore the meaning of words with my wildfire touch. Fingertips trailing down, tracing lines, writing songs along the curve of your spine.

And if you do, too, maybe one day we shall find a way to write them down. These will be's, as they are now. Crafting a universe, just us, you and I.

And if you never do. I hope you are well. Speaking in chapters with people worth your time. I am glad you found magic in their minds and a challenge in their smiles.
And I still hope you will.
Seanathon Dec 2016
All that I want, and think that would be best to be, right now, is out in front of me. Presented here within these words, which I crafted deep from within. And to say that I in some way, am too much for you right now. That is cowardice towards what ere could be. So don't claim to know what a word really means, when you want to craft alongside a wordsmith like me.
Remeber... I'm not a machine.
Andrew M Bell Feb 2015
He wanted it to be perfect,
for the words to fit together
like a well-oiled…
scratch that…
he’d heard that some Muslim women
(in Turkey or were they Moors?)
purposely wove a mistake
into their intricate tapestries
because only God is perfect
and they were right of course,
but he felt perfect just now
sitting still, warm
in a buck-fifty’s worth
of sunshine.
Copyright Andrew M. Bell. Acknowledgement is made to Valley Micropress in which this poem first appeared in Volume 12, Issue #7, September 2009. Also appears in my poetry collection, "Clawed Rains".
Eleanor Rigby Aug 2014
I looked at you
The way an artist
Would look at a naked woman.
Your bottom lip was designed
For kissing,
Your hands for crafting,
And there was a picture in every moment
I have shared with you.

I saw that we fit together
So very perfectly,
But the subjective camera
Was only me.


— The End —