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The Sands That Spill From My Fingers
so there you are again
why do you come inside my room
at the hour when i am so empty
and needy of
affection
you tease me with that smile
and you put your finger
between your lips and
show your tongue like a bud
of a very red rose
i am amazed and ready like i am
a water escaping from
the hold of this dam
you laugh and then you go outside the door
without even closing it
i have learned a lot from this
and i will not follow
you are simply one of the grains of sands
spilling from the hold of my fingers
i watch and then
i let them all go.
poem
by
Ric S. Bastasa
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