O you whom I often and silently come where you are that I may be with you, As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same room with you, Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me. —Walt Whitman, for more love poems see Leaves of . . .
Come
Come, tangle yourself in me. —L.L. Barkat, from The Novelist For more on The Novelist, visit Tweetspeak Poetry Check out Funny Love Songs Check out Romantic Love Songs . . .
Gathered
The day rose with shivered light, bees braiding a path before his eye had even opened. Rose the woman, resonant as a struck cello. The beekeeper entered his kitchen among the crumbs from dinner, all taste a light on the tongue. Blind, but it was only light, bees blurring past, . . .
Tea, No Sympathy
Bigelow brews up basic black; Lipton warms with its touch of tart Tuscan lemon. But I see these aren't your cups of tea. With them, you get no yin, no yang, no sweet and bitter blend of Golden Flower, no accents of lanky Jasmine Fairy Maidens quick to unfold their charms in the . . .
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