For R.

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Nettle as a man,
you call to me.
Like a child I reach for your pristine white flowers
only to feel the itching sting.
No matter how tender my attempt,
invisibly fine
needles pierce me.
I cry out
in desire and pain.
Unable to touch,
suffused with longing,
I lay down by you in the spring grass
and count your petals.
You ask me how I am
as casual as an acquaintance at church.
And I want to pour words all around you like sunshine,
but I clip my heart short.
“Happy and Busy,” I say.
As if I have not missed you.
I lift my pen,
and touch it
to your memory.

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11 Comments
LeBrozLeBrozalmost 16 years ago
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This poem was selected from Lit's archive of over 39,000 poems for inclusion in today's Archival Review.<br>

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LeBrozLeBrozabout 16 years ago
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With such simple words used here, torn emotions are revealed.

echoes_sechoes_sabout 19 years ago
absolutely

beautiful and exquisite. I love how you expressed this. Thank you

Syndra LynnSyndra Lynnabout 19 years ago
Beautifully

crafted verse. Emotions shine here. I loved it!

Wanton VixxxenWanton Vixxxenabout 19 years ago
For another "R"...

Your poem could be tailor made for My "R" as the lines, "And I want to pour words all around you like sunshine, but I clip my heart short" struck home in a deep way. Held and unspoken feelings will be the death of Me yet. Thank you for the wake up call with this poem, Willow

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