To My Dear

They should touch your soul first;

Your fear of losing love;

Your insane thoughts;

Then they can meet your body;

My dear;

If they don’t know how your eyes sparkling

With passion ;

When you’re talking about something you love;

Then you can’t let them stay in your life;

Never let anybody to be with you;

Because of your honest smile;

Not on our flashy skin, but at your soul;

The other thing doesn’t matter;

Both crumbling into each other company;

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  • Sangavi
  • Being In Love is Being in the second life of the fantasy; I keep myself drunk in poems where I live a life of all the poets;
    Emily Dickinson, ‘Much Madness Is Divinest Sense.’
    Anonymous, ‘Fowls in the Frith.’ This poem, which is around 800 years old, is ambiguous
    Oliver Goldsmith, ‘An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog.’

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