Lovey-Dovey
Must we face such fog and nonsense?
I'm not sorry you're in love, but spare me,
Spare us all, the gush of souls alloyed
And singing angels. Also, spare us,
When it's over, pits of hell and thunder
Crashing. You'll get by, and, being young,
Are sure to find somebody else whose
Eyes (and hands) will deeply probe,
And, in the process, I'm afraid,
Precipitate more fog.
poem by Lawrence Beck
Added by Poetry Lover
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