Pyromancy

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I burned her poems in a china dish,
Then stirred the ashes, read my wish

That every love she wrote was me,
That we embraced in every line.

Am I The Fool, a clown divine,
Or simply reading mawkishly?

Real love lives somewhere physical,
My pillow whispers, cynical.

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Trigger 14, Poet's Choice (Nonce Form)

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annaswirlsannaswirlsalmost 15 years ago
your poem

was recommended in this thread -->http://forum.literotica.com/showthread.php?t=254157&page=135

annaswirlsannaswirlsalmost 15 years ago
You know I commented on this earlier this morning

Hmm. lost in the ether I suppose. I just wanted to say I get this. It made me ache in a special place. Pretty sure what I wrote this morning was a more profound message.